


Make a wish for me baby 'Cause I think they might be catching up

by Stan_Hoe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, On the Run, Queen Daenerys, Road Trips, arya and gendry are the superior couple on this universe, but in essos, for some time at least, i don't make the rules, instagram as timestamp bc why not, kind of?, sorry - Freeform, there's no house lannister bc i didn't know what to do with them, where she is supposed to reign and be praised like the goddes she is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stan_Hoe/pseuds/Stan_Hoe
Summary: Arya Stark was born to be a lady. Too bad she didn't want to be.Her destiny, however, seems to love fucking with her.-----I suck at summaries. And tagging. And probably writing, but whatever.Runaways AU where Arya escapes from palace at a young age with Gendry and Hot Pie in tow in an attempt to escape from royal life. Little does she know that Gendry is every bit as royal as she is, if not more.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I haven't posted anything in ages!
> 
> So. I guess it's safe to say that GoT has the stupidiest ending of all times, right? Like, no, Arya would never sail away because "i'M n0t a LaDY". No. Homegirl has been done with being on the road ever since A Storm of Swords, if not before. My girl wants a home and a pack, and that's a fact. 
> 
> If you can't tell, i'm upset at the ending (and the fact that George Martin has kept me waiting over five year for Winds of Winter) so i've been writting this silly little thing. I won't promise this is perfect, because I get childish when I'm writting and a lot of the storyline won't be either polished nor down-to-earth, if you know what i mean. Like, I fucked up with timelines and characterization and grammar (which, understandable as this isn't beta'd and english isn't my first lenguage), but sometimes you just gotta go with it. 
> 
> Also, i've been procrastinating quite a lot because my college was in a strike and that ended up in me making instagram posts, and since i refuse to believe i really wasted an entire night searching for weird-ass pictures, i've decided to include them as time-stamps. DO NOT look at the timeline, because at the time it made sense, but now? Just. Ignore it. 
> 
> One last thing; I'm very shy. Right now i just feel like sharing this story with you, and it feels right, but i cannot promise that i will be responding to comments because i'm dumb and i get anxious.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> PD: title from Vanishing Point by Alexandra Savior.

[first post](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/arya-stan)

They whispered about her quite a lot. 

Technically, it wasn’t at her face. She doubted anyone but her own family remembered her brown hair and steel grey eyes, but the newspapers and gossip channels said enough. She was a lost girl and her family couldn’t bear with her wildness. She hadn’t been seen with her family since she was thirteen of age. 

Her family never talked about it. When asked, they would say that it was personal business, nothing for the media to worry about, but Sansa had let slip once or twice that her sister had, indeed, escaped to never be seen again. A lifetime ago, she would’ve been so angry she would’ve punched a wall until her knuckles bleed. Now, she just felt amused. Sansa, perfect lady Sansa, so charming half a country would fight for her hand, couldn’t even try to feign loss. It was interesting to see right through her just by looking at the television. 

She wasn’t actively looking for news about her or her family, but they were quite popular in the media. The sworn and closest allies of the crown had once presented five legitimate children and a bastard. Now, there were only three children that hadn’t been disowned or sent away, in Jon’s case. She had found out it made her family all the more interesting for the media, thought she couldn’t put her finger on why. 

Up until she was ten, she never thought about the gruesome life she was supposed to bear. Sure, she hated her classes and the constant tailoring of dresses she was bound to ruin and the fact that her voice would never be heard, on one hand because she was a mere child and on the other, because she was a woman; but it was the whispered words and little hints her mother kept sending her way that made her realize how fucked up she was at such a young age. 

She couldn’t argue that much until then. She lived in a safe castle with great, big gardens that her skinny legs could wonder freely, she had food on her plate and a warm bed at night, all of that without counting the amount of privileges she also had, like private teachers, a TV larger than her queen size bed, maidens that cleaned up after her, and a fire in her chambers when winter came. Granted, she had an easy childhood. She learned how to ride a horse, how to read, and how to write, even some archery with her brothers when her mother wasn’t around to scold her, and if she had been interested in learning the more feminine jobs, she would’ve also learned how to sew and sing and play the piano, like Sansa did. How could she argue? 

But then her mother started snapping at her more and more for being such a wild child. Rickon was one thing (“He isn’t the next in line. Bran is, after Robb. Rickon can enjoy his wilderness for a few more years, I reckon.”), but she was her second daughter, the last in line. There was no way she was inheriting her father’s title, so her mother was starting to seize suitors for when she was of age. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to know. The only reason she was aware of her mothers’ plan was because she heard her talking to her Father about it one cold night. 

She had felt so betrayed and scared that, for the first time in her life, she sneaked out of the Palace’s grounds. 

She had never wondered alone, or even walked down these streets without her family’s guards, but she prided herself on being aware of her footing –she could walk around and then just retrace her steps. She wasn’t stupid, like Sansa. She would find her way back. 

That night she met Gendry, Hot Pie and Lommy. Her shoes were covered in mud and her hair was a _birds’ nest_ , as Jon would often say with a grin plastered on his face. She had been wearing an oversized coat that belonged to Robb and she barely looked like a girl, if the instant mockery from her new friends was anything to go by. 

They were orphans that had escaped from their foster home to pick some pockets before making their way back to the overcrowded cot they were living in. Arya gave them a bracelet covered in gold that one of Robb’s suitors had given her a few weeks ago. She really didn’t know how much it could actually help them, but their eyes widened and she knew she had become their prey. 

“Is this all you’ve got, boy?” Lommy had asked, and as she took a step back, she tripped and fell on her butt. 

“I bet that he has diamond-drenched underwear, aye?” Hot pie had approached and she managed to get back on her feet before punching him. Then, Gendry was at her side. 

“Picking on a little one, are we? How about you get someone your size, like me? Or are you scared I'll punch you to death?” he threatened and the boys’ ran off. They stared until all that reminded of the orphans were the echoes of their running shoes before the tall, bulky boy turned to look at her, amusement shinning bright in his eyes. “You’ve got some balls, punching that dumbass while being so little.” 

“Fucker tried to rob me. What else was I supposed to do?” she snapped, her heart beating so fast she felt like she had been running for hours. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was shaken. She was a mile and a half away from her house, cold and she almost got assaulted. If she didn’t make her way back to her bed before dawn, her mother would scream her lungs out at her. 

Gendry let out a surprised laugh. “Right. They won’t try to bother you again.” 

“Not if they plan on having children someday,” she threatened to no one in particular. 

Gendry smirked at her. Needless to say, they became fast friends. 

For the next two years, she sneaked out of her home to see her friends. Hot Pie and Lommy had, eventually, asked for forgiveness. Her friendship with Lommy, however, was short lived. A year after their first encounter, Lommy had met a drug dealer that kept offering him cheap shit. She told him he was a complete dumbass if he thought heroin was some kind of joke. He said that he could control it, that he wasn’t being reckless, that he wasn’t an addict. He overdosed six months after. 

Hot Pie was the most affected. Gendry and herself grieved, but they weren’t quite as close to Lommy as Hot Pie had been. He decided to start cooking as a distraction, and to everyone’s surprise, he was a natural cook. It brought happiness back in his life, and it also meant they could stuff themselves to death if they were in the mood. 

At twelve, she was aware she didn’t want to ignore what happened outside the castle walls. Inside, everything was perfect. Clean, fresh, and fragile. Constant visits from other highborn families, and gossips about the king and his bastards, like it was all that mattered in the world. 

She had seen the real world. How mothers would starve to give their children a tiny piece of bread, how easily teenagers got lost in drugs and all the gunshots that could be heard throughout the night because of opposing clans. Inside the castle, people pretended that this little bubble was everything that mattered, and it angered her that with all the money and influence they had, no one ever thought about the people, the realm, the smallfolk. But she knew. And, at twelve, she knew she couldn’t keep ignoring it like the other lords’ and ladies did. 

She gave away most of her belongings to goods’ will, behind her mothers’ back. She went door-to-door handing warm, fuzzy blankets to poor people, and the bigger families also received some old coats she knew neither of her siblings would use anymore. She even handed some jewels to some people that were in the most need. For an entire year, she did the work she wished her family could focus on, and it warmed her heart. She never asked for anything in return, but some people insisted on giving back. She was learning German from an immigrant old lady that had taken a liking to her, and free ballet classes in a little, destroyed dance studio. She had even learnt how to grow vegetables on her own from a middle-aged hippie, which she found fascinating. 

Then, her mother started noticing the missing stuff. It started with one of Bran’s old coats. Her mother had wanted him to pass it over to Rickon, because she refused to tailor him a new one if he was dead set on destroying every new piece of fabric she handed him. Bran had searched up and down for the coat, but she knew he wouldn’t found it. She had given it over three months ago. 

Then came Sansa’s old barbie collections. She had to bit her tongue to not yell at her for being so fucking greedy. She knew Sansa hadn’t used those barbies in over four years, because _they are old, mother, I want the new Disney ones now_. Some maid had probably said to her sister that they’d seen her carrying the old, dust-filled box out of her room, and had decided that her little sister wasn’t worthy of her old dolls. It was the only explanation she could have, especially since she kept glaring at her while she whined at their mother. 

(Then again, Sansa glared at her on a daily basis. It could’ve been nothing, but she was almost certain that her sister believed she had her _dumbass_ dolls.) 

It all came tumbling down a month after her thirteenth birthday. Her mother had asked for her to wear her green gown, the same one she had donated not even a week ago. She tried to feign ignorance, but her mother was fed up with Jon (just because he was Jon) and with Rickon who refused to let her cut his hair short, so she had marched to her closet and snapped it open only to find it half empty. There was a grey, simple gown (the only one she actually liked), three pair of shoes (where there should had been, at least, twenty), two jeans and a bunch of hoodies and tops. Catelyn was aware that Arya didn’t really care about clothes, not as much as Sansa or Robb did, but she also knew that her daughter had a lot more clothes than what she saw, and Arya realized that the moment she heard her stifled gasp. 

She had never seen her mother angrier. She demanded to know where all the missing stuff was, and she admitted that she had been donating it to a goods’ will. She didn’t tell her that she had handed a lot of the stuff herself, because her mother wasn’t supposed to know that she had been sneaking out of the castle for however long. It didn’t matter at the end. She yelled at her for hours, going on and on about some important stuff that were too valuable to give away. 

(Sansa’s dolls were ranked an _emotional_ loss and she had to control her entire being to not scuff or yell back). 

And she tried to tell her. Most of the stuff that she gave away were naught for them. Some blankets that had been collecting dust on the storage house, a few earrings that would never be used again because _the press had already seen them_ , gowns that were too little on Sansa and too big for Arya, a dozen of coats that had been deemed useless because of a permanent stain and so on. 

But her mother was still enraged. “This is because of that bastard you call brother. If it weren’t for Jon and his base-born nature, you wouldn’t be as reckless as he is!” 

And she didn’t understand what was her point. Jon, if anything, was respectful. He never talked back to her mother, or went against her wishes. If she said that he wouldn’t eat with them, he would obey without a word. Jon was a lot of things, funny and caring and loving and her favorite brother, but not reckless. Her mother, however, had always been dead set on blaming Jon for everything that went wrong in the family. 

She got grounded, her mother refusing to hear whatever she had to say, and the next day, Jon came by her room to bid his goodbye. 

“Lady Stark thinks I would do better guarding our great nation,” he said and she stared back at him. 

“She’s sending you to the army?” she asked, disbelief washing through her. This wasn’t happening. It _couldn’t_ be happening. She had been doing good deed, why would the gods punish her for it? 

He nodded courtly. “I’ll be fine. I couldn’t keep pretending that my place is here, could I? I'm just a bastard. Our lord father had already given me too much,” he said, trying so hard to sound grateful that she knew he had been practicing that speech for quite some time. Had her mother already hinted at his departure at him before? A day ago, she would’ve doubted it. Now, however... 

She hugged him with a force she didn’t knew she could muster, and they cried for what felt like hours. Before leaving, he gave her a heavy, pointy silver ring. It was beautiful and dangerous, and inside she could see a fine, delicate engravement of a wolf. 

“So you don’t forget me,” he joked, but her heart felt like breaking. As if she could ever forget him. “Also, you will definitely draw some blood from any prick that tries to mess up with you.” 

She laughed wetly and hugged him one last time. 

Realistically, she knew she would see him again. Hell, she would be calling him the next morning, but there was something about this entire situation that made her feel helpless. She loved her family, she could never doubt that, but she was trapped in a life she didn’t ask for. She had tried to make something good out of it, and she got punished in the most painful way. The worst part was that she knew her mother was aware of it. She had come afterwards Jon left and said that everything would be fine now, that she would become a beautiful lady and marry a handsome lord. 

She had smiled and hugged her tightly, knowing that by this time tomorrow, she would be long gone. 

She left a letter for Robb, Bran and Rickon. Nothing for Sansa, because as much as she was her family, she wasn’t part of her pack. She felt guilty, she had to admit, but it wasn’t her complete fault that they never got along. It was both their fault, and if she wasn’t about to run away, they probably could’ve mended their broken relationship at some point of their lives. 

Her father was the hardest. She found him before dawn with a handful of men, readying for their monthly hunt. When he asked what was she doing awake so early in the morning, she told him she couldn’t sleep and that she just wanted a hug. He pressed her against his chest and planted a kiss to her hair, oblivious to the fact that this could be the last hug they would ever share, and she had to force down the sob that threatened to escape from her throat. Then, she left her childhood home with her warmest coat and a backpack full of clothes.


	2. Chapter I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's friday. i know i said "a week". shit happens. that's my code for "my mom was at a conference and took my laptop with her", so there. on the bright sight, i managed to write quite a lot this week. i hope i make it up with this chapter, even if it's a train-wreck. enjoy! <3

[second post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186248190949)

She doesn’t, and probably will never know how she managed to stay on the down low for so many years. For the first few weeks, her face had been plastered everywhere, and news of her disappearance rounded the TV at every hour. Gendry used to joke about being outlaws by conspiracy and Hot Pie would look out through the window of the little cot they were crashing at every five minutes. 

She chastised him, and Gendry pondered the option of kicking him out of their little made-up group out loud every night. He would point out that Hot Pie was a coward little fucker and that it could fuck with their plans. When they came up with one, that is. As clever as they were, they were also children. They knew nothing about escapes. 

(Gendry and Hot Pie knew a thing or two about escaping from foster homes, but exiting a country, or passing through the border with a highborn lady that refused to be found? Another whole story). 

But as hours passed, and sirens grew closer, she started getting nervous. Arya Stark was _nervous_. Syrio, her dancing teacher, would’ve been disappointed, but she knew that Winter Town wasn’t a very big city, not like the Capitol. Someone would be smart enough to propose searching inside the small-folks houses, and then inside the abandoned buildings. Not _all_ of them could be so dense. 

“Maybe I should just leave. The city isn’t that big; at some point someone will decide to search on the countryside,” she had whispered to Gendry the night where the sirens felt so close that she almost pictured herself back in her home. 

He had frowned at her, a silent question on his eyes. “Then _we’ll_ leave. I don’t know about Hot Pie, but I doubt he will stay behind.” 

She felt like laughing. Gendry had been rambling about Hot Pie’s watch turns less than ten minutes ago. Technically, it was his turn that night, but neither trusted him to stay up all night. They were right, as they heard Hot Pie’s heavy snorts from the other side of the room. Still, here was Gendry quietly assuring her that they would be following her. Well, at least he would be following. No one really knew what the fuck Hot Pie wanted. She was sure he would be happy here or in fucking Pentos as long as he had a nice oven and flour to make his damned black bread. It almost annoyed her that it really was a good fucking bread. 

She could live without that bread. Alone, however? Her father had once told her that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives, and she had run away from her original pack less than two days ago. What Gendry was offering her was, what? It sure as hell sounded as being part of her new pack, and it warmed the blood in her veins to think that, maybe, she had found a real, loyal friend. 

She forced herself to keep those thoughts for when they were far, far away from her home. 

“Where would we go, though? We have no money or food, and I can’t just walk to a train station or harbor without being recognized.” 

Gendry pondered the obstacles for a few minutes before his face lit up. “I know how to drive. We could trade that diamond earring you gave Hot Pie for a car, and then we would be able to travel wherever we want,” he whispered, excitedly. 

Hot Pie would be upset for the rest of his life, and she knew it. They both did, but no one could argue that it was a bad plan. She could buy a pair of scissors and cut her hair, maybe even buy a fake ID and disguise herself as a little boy. Gods’ knew she had the body of one. Besides, her back-pack was full of jewelry and money. A fake ID wouldn’t hurt her wallet. If her estimation was right, they would be well fed and rested for at least three years as long as they were cautious with the jewels they pawned. 

(Her estimation was wrong. Unfortunately, she had always been too used to having money, and Gendry and Hot Pie were not. They spent way too much money in nice motels and candies the first few months, and that eventually came back to bite them in the ass. They had to sleep in their crumped, crappy car for almost a year, and their money was mostly spent in food and furs to not freeze to death. She just thanked to gods’ that all of them were northerners, otherwise they wouldn’t have survived the first two years). 

But back when Gendry proposed the plan, she smiled for the first time in days and nodded. “You are not so stupid after all,” she mocked, relief washing over her. They finally had a plan. He glared at her playfully and she let out a little laugh, before remembering something. “Crap. I liked dancing. I was finally understanding all that French stuff Syrio kept yelling at me,” she admitted with a slightly sad tone. 

Nobody but Gendry knew how much she loved her Ballet classes. Hot Pie teased her about being too boyish to be a ballerina and her family never even knew she had started dancing, but Gendry had seen her and had told her he had never seen anything so graceful. She had blushed and called him stupid, but she appreciated the compliment. She had been working her ass off to maintain her posture, of course she was fucking graceful. 

It was even better that she actually liked her dancing teacher. Syrio could be harsh, but she liked harsh people. They seemed more real to her. Syrio was outspoken about being mad or displeased, and that was good in training. She didn’t like people like Sansa that sugar-coated everything. Life was hard. A few hard words wouldn’t kill anyone. 

Maybe that’s why she enjoyed Gendry’s company so much as well. The boy was moody and so sassy he had scars from people that he had pissed off. He was straight forward with her, and she liked it. She believed that was one of the reasons they got along so well. Back at home, she couldn’t speak her mind because most of the time, her thoughts were too _unladylike_. With Gendry and Syrio she could swear and call them out on their bullshit and they would either snap back or laugh. She didn’t mind either. 

But ever since she escaped her home, she felt like she was losing more and more of the things she loved. Her home, her family, her ballet and her German classes with that angry old lady, without considering she was also scared of losing her friends by pushing them too far. A few years down the road, Gendry would admit that he would rather cut every one of his fingers before abandoning her, but at thirteen, she had never felt so scared and lonely as those first few weeks. 

Gendry must’ve seen it in her face, the fear and crippling solitude, because he, hesitantly, took one of her hands between his and squeezed it reassuringly. “We’ll get somewhere safe and then we’ll look for a dance studio or something. I'll find a job and you’ll find a way to be the most acclaimed dancer the world has ever seen, if that’s what you want. If not, you have all your life ahead of you to decide.” 

Maybe it was the beer they had been chugging a few hours ago (to calm their nerves down, although Arya quickly realized that it only made her paranoid so she stopped earlier than her friends, who were fairly tipsy by the time Hot Pie stumbled into his make-shift bed), but Gendry had never been as soft with her, and she surprised herself at rejoicing in his affectionate gaze. She kind of hoped Gendry could look at her like that all her life, and then she scoffed at herself. 

What a girlish thought. Sansa had rubbed her dumbassery on her. Songs weren’t real. Knights weren’t brave for rescuing a lady and making them their wives. Knights were brave when they marched to war, to fight for their families knowing that they probably wouldn’t come back. Ladies could save themselves, and they could fight if they wanted. She just wished she knew any lady that actually thought the same as her, that way she probably wouldn’t have felt like an outcast in her own home her entire life. 

However, Gendry’s gaze was all that took to confuse her. She couldn’t help herself as she beamed at him and, for the first time in her life, her heart skipped a beat. At a loss of words, and feeling extremely grateful, she hugged him very quickly and then turned around to her own make-shift bed to sleep. She, then, proceeded to pretend she didn’t feel a weird, warm thing in her stomach. 

(It didn’t really work).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uploading this has been a bitch and a half. for reals, my internet is stupid bad and it's driving me crazy. i hope it's worth the struggle, y'all.
> 
> freak fact: Arya and Gendry's insta accounts are private so far. no, they don't exist, but in this universe they are private. also, they each have three followers, each other, Hot Pie and Jon.
> 
> *edit: i finally figured out how to put italics in HTML, so you can be sure imma annoy you with them italics. sorry, not sorry*


	3. Chapter II

[third post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186362853344)  
[fourth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186362862584)

They were on the road for four years. At some point, her family had stopped searching for her and they were finally able to settle somewhere no one knew her face, partially because her face had changed as she grew. 

Gendry kept saying she got prettier by the second and she kept rolling her eyes at him and calling him stupid for it. Ever since Hot Pie decided to stay as a head chef in a little hotel they stumbled upon a year ago, they had been alone, and with that, their relationship had changed rapidly. 

They had been flirting for years, that much she knew. Hot Pie had never been a clever one, but even him had noticed the quick glances and private jokes between them. When she turned sixteen, Gendry gave her a little dagger, engraved by himself, and her first kiss. After that, they started cuddling and linking hand as they drove, but remained teasing and mocking each other like they’d always have. She sometimes was confused about what they were. Friends don’t kiss, but lovers don’t cuss at each other, or do they? She eventually stopped caring. 

In her entire life, she never knew how important a person could be. Sure, her family had been important, especially Jon and her father, but now, for all she knew, she just had Gendry, and she couldn’t be more grateful for him. 

She kept dancing. She went from ballet to break dance to salsa, then dragged Gendry to some classes of tango and waltz so she could have a partner every now and then. They discovered she was a lot more graceful than he was, but neither tango nor waltz required that much grace from him and he liked having something else in common with her. Nowadays, if she felt like dancing out of the blue, Gendry would probably grab her by the waist and sweep her off her feet. She enjoyed it a little bit too much, but refused to say it out loud. 

When they could finally settle down, it was in the capital, ironically. She was hiding right before the King’s nose, but it wasn’t the dumbest, reckless idea they’d had in the last few years. They _had_ eaten some weird brownies offered by a cute little girl scout that got them high as a kite just three days ago, after all. Granted, that one still wasn’t their dumbest choice, but it was high in the funniest ones. 

The capital was beautiful and big, with opportunities everywhere. It was, also, very expensive. She had run out of jewels to pawn two years ago. They were living on whatever money they could save, but now, after traveling for an entire month (and spending way too much of their savings on a nice hotel room and room service, because they are _dumb_ , apparently), they were running short. Arya saw how tired Gendry was, working two jobs so they could have enough to eat, to pay their room and part of Arya’s studio tuition, and she considered quitting altogether. She had been working as an assistant in the same studio; maybe they could let her dance as well as teach, and all the money would go to rent a better room. 

(They were living amongst rats, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. They had moved their bed countless times, trying to avoid the rats’ shit that fell from the holes of the ceiling, but to no avail. There were too many holes and even more rats. They were fighting with their tenant on a daily basis so he would repair the ceiling, at the very least, but he kept saying that someone was due to come _next day_. Of course, next day never came and the fight started all over again). 

However, when she had asked to stay at her job and keep attending her classes, the response was negative. Technically, she would keep doing what she loved; dancing, it was just that all her time would be invested in teaching, and while she loved the thrill of an innocent face executing a perfect routine, she loved feeling that same rush herself a lot more. She figured that she could start over when they found stable jobs, but for the time being, she would have to partially quit dancing, so she went to her last class for who-knows-how-long and danced her heart out. In a surprising turn of events, a woman approached to her after the class was finished and quietly told her about an audition later than day. She said _I shouldn’t be telling you this, because auditions end today, and I reckon this isn’t ballet you were dancing, but if you hurry you might get there on time. I hope you’ve learned your Chassé_. 

She barely made it. The audition was in the heart of the city and the traffic had been dense, so she had had to run to get on time, but she arrived just as the last dancer was leaving the audition. She begged to let her dance for them, all while internally cursing these damned _French people_ , so fucking uptight with their ballet. 

When she finished, she didn’t get a “we’ll call you later,” or a “thank you, but you’re not what we’re looking for.” She got the starring role. Rehearsals would begin in two days' time and, from what she gathered from all the chatter she was surrounded with, they were excited to work with someone that had such a fiery passion as herself. 

Gendry kept peppering kisses in her face, mumbling about how proud he was, and she had to back away to remind him what this meant. 

“We can search for a nicer room, maybe even an apartment to rent. Somewhere we won’t get salmonella,” she had joked, but Gendry’s eyes had softened and he had kissed her like never before. She wanted to rip out his clothes and just have him, but she had been scared of having sex on their lumpy mattress because she was sure someone had been murdered in it, so she had to restrain herself. 

They would be running short on money for a few months still, and they knew that, but neither was exactly patient. Arya had realized that most of their problems through the years had started because they couldn’t refrain themselves when an idea popped into their heads. It didn’t get better when they were excited, so when Gendry told her to grab her wallet and her phone and to get on the car, she grinned at him and did as he told as he threw some clean clothes in one of their backpacks. They blasted their music, singing and laughing all the way as Gendry drove them to the nicest hotel they could afford, and made love all through dawn. It wasn’t their smartest idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, and in the end, it didn’t matter either. Her paycheck was _fat_. 

They rented a one-room apartment that had no heating whatsoever, but it was cozy and had some amazing natural light that they both enjoyed. Arya had an space where she could grow a few seeds, as she had been wanting for the past four or five years, and Gendry had taken a liking to the kitchen, where he would come up with weird food made from whatever crap they had left on the fridge before judging it as if they knew shit about cooking. He dropped his job when Arya got her second starring role, this time in a music video from some popular singer, and started working as her bodyguard. He had the muscles for it, and he didn’t trust anybody else to watch for Arya, except, of course, Arya herself. 

She wore a mask for the shootings. She didn’t want anyone to recognize her, and the team thought the visual it gave to the lyrics and music were better than they had originally thought. When they showed her the final result, she was overjoyed with the exception of one little mistake. 

“I would like to not be credited,” she had said. She knew some people would catch her name and run to tell her family. She _hated_ not being able to receive credit, because if she was proud of something, it was her art, but people could cloak her and she wasn’t risking it. She already risked enough by calling Jon once or twice in a month from a public phone. 

The producers were dumbfounded, which surprised her positively. The field where she was working in was quite competitive. Most of the time, it was already a miracle to even be credited, and it almost made her laugh that this wasn’t the case. They told her it was fine if she didn’t want to be credited, but they also asked her to reconsider. They gave her a week to ponder it, and a bunch of recommendation letters, plus the promise to appear on future videos of the artist. 

She told Gendry there was no way she would accept being credited as a few stray tears fell down her cheeks out of pure frustration, and Gendry’s eyes had lit up like they did when he had an idea. He didn’t voice it out loud and hugged her instead. On her eighteenth birthday, two days after, he got on one knee and asked her to take his last name. They bought a nice, simple baby blue dress (because she despised white dresses and _everyone who got married in white is, clearly, lying to themselves, because there is no way all women are maids before marriage_. Okay, maybe some women were, but she wasn’t one of them and she really, really hated white dresses) and a simple tuxedo for Gendry before making their way to the closest chapel. They were married two hours later, and she was no longer Arya Stark. The realization of it wouldn’t hit until the end of the week, when she accepted the crediting, and she would cry on Gendry’s arms, conflicted for hours, but it made them happy. 

(She also felt a little stupid for not thinking about this idea sooner. On the bright side, they had gotten married the moment she was legally an adult, which had two pros: although the receptionist asked for ID, they didn’t ask for parents' signature because she was, in fact, eighteen, and neither would ever forget their anniversary. It was an easy win-win situation) 

Gendry was, officially, her only family, and while it hurt losing the last reminder of ever having siblings and parents, it also made her feel free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On schedule! be proud. 
> 
> freak fact: i like to think Gendry blasts Arabella by the arctic monkeys all the time while driving, and changes the lyrics to 'Aryabella'. if you haven't heard the song, you should because it's amazing and it fits weirdly good for this fic.


	4. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, uni's about to start again for me. I would love to say that i made good use of my time to write, but the thing is, i didn't. i mean, i wrote a good-enough amount, but i was hoping i would be able to have it finished before the strike ended. on the bright side, i kind of know where this is going and how to finish it. 
> 
> Do not fear, children! i have more chapters already edited and revised, so i am almost certain that i will be able to balance my studies with finishing this story. afterwards, i'm going full student-mood. fun!
> 
> (not really).

[fifth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186509760814)  
[sixth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186509765584)  
[seventh post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186509775154)

For almost two years, life was as simple as it was chaotic. She didn’t really show her face, but jobs offerings kept dropping at her doorstep and people waited outside the studios where she was scheduled to dance, hoping to get a sight of the Water Dancer, as people had started to call her. Gendry and herself could afford an actual bed and a table for their apartment, but they tried to be careful with money. They had an account for savings (because you can’t just spit to the sky and hope it will land somewhere safe) and some investments, like apartments they had bought so they could rent and a stock or two just in case. Whatever they had left was spent in food and clothes and the rest was donated. The one thing she could not do was speaking up. 

Gendry would snort at that, because she wasn’t the kind of person that kept her opinions to herself, but she had to restrain herself from yelling at the top of her lungs to wealthy people to do something and help the smallfolk. For years, she hadn’t had enough money to help as much as she wanted, but she still handed over coats and toys if she could, and back then, she had been sleeping on a cramped _car_. There were people that had resources, and were doing nothing. She had to ask, who even needs three cars? Why would people spend money buying the latest iPhone if they would record themselves trashing it? Were they not aware that people could buy year-long supplies with that money? If they were going to throw it away, why not on someone that actually needed it? 

But she had chosen to hide behind a mask. Maybe people had put the pieces together, and maybe her family knew that she was alive and well, living from a dream they never even knew about, but she had no way of knowing. She didn’t want to be on social media, scared shitless that she would receive a message from Bran or Rickon who had always been the smartest and wittiest of her siblings, so at the end of the day, she couldn’t voice her thoughts. She couldn’t put a use to whatever influence she may have and it drove her mad. 

Gendry, sensing her frustration one random day, had put on _Por Una Cabeza_ on their speaker and vowed dramatically in front of her. 

“Would you dance this piece with me? Or am I too low-born for m’lady high?” he had mocked, offering his hand, and she had rolled her eyes at him before accepting it. 

Her husband wasn’t the greatest dancer to ever live, but he was tall and strong, and knew her better than anyone. It came easy to dance with him, even if his body wasn’t quite as accustomed for dance as hers was. She had no qualms about dropping into his arms, or letting him sweep her off her feet, so tango came easy for them. 

“Maybe we should change our last name to Addams, since we are dead set on being like Gomez and Morticia,” she joked as Gendry make her twirl. 

He laughed and pulled her back to him. “Maybe we should. It’s not like we care about last names anymore,” he pondered, and Arya thought that maybe they would do just that tomorrow. He was right after all; she had given up being a Stark a long time ago and Gendry had never really cared about his last name. They could go from Waters to Addams in no time, and they could change it again if they wanted. No one would care. 

Just when she was going to say that out loud, she heard someone knocking on the door. She grunted and let her head fall on his shoulder. It was almost mid-fucking-night. Who would be bothering at this hour? 

On the other side of the door, there were two men almost as big as Gendry, dressed all in black tuxedos and with sunglasses on. She almost laughed. Who did they think they were, _Men in Black_? 

“Gendry Waters?” one of them had asked. Gendry put his arm out to held her back, knowing she was hot-tempered. Say the wrong words to her or her husband, and she would jump into action. 

“Who asks?” he asked, and she felt like punching him. _Stupid bull_ , she thought. _You gave yourself away_. 

“We’re here on King’s Robert sake,” the other one answered, and they promptly took a startled step back. Arya shrieked into herself as Gendry put his entire body in front of her. 

_They found me_ , she thought, panic rising in his throat. _They finally found me_. 

Gendry nodded courtly, feigning indifference. “So?” 

“By the King’s decreed, you, Gendry Waters, are now legitimized as Gendry Baratheon, first of his name,” one of them announced, and her heart fell to her feet. 

_What?_

“What?” he asked out loud. 

One of the men nodded. “If you could please come with us to the palace, the king will receive you and explain further.” 

She had never felt so lost. It felt like the ground beneath her feet had disappeared from one second to another, and nothing felt stable. 

Gendry stuttered for a second. “No I- no. I ain’t no king’s bastard. I'm just an orphan. I- I won’t go with you,” he said, and if she hadn’t known him as well as she did, she would’ve believed his firm words. But he was her best friend, her husband, and she could hear a slight tremble in his voice. He sounded as lost and scared as she felt. 

The men in front of them were emotionless. They just shrugged. “You’ll go with us, lad. We can do it the easy way or the hard way. You decide.” 

She would’ve punched them. Three years ago, they had met an Israeli immigrant that had thought her some Krav Maga attacks. She had knocked out quite a few men with his teachings over the years, but something in her head told her that these men were trained better than she was. Maybe she could take out one, but what if they carried guns? She knew that if what they said was true, then they wouldn’t kill Gendry, but they could shoot his leg or even her. So far, she hadn’t even been looked at. They could probably get away with a murder if it was in the name of their king. 

So, she gripped her hand and moved him out of her way. “He’ll go,” she said, scared of losing him. She knew he wouldn’t leave willingly. He was too loyal. But she didn’t want him to get hurt. 

Gendry looked back at her, a bewildered expression on his face. He saw right through her, and she knew her husband came to the same conclusion as he faced the guards once again and stood tall. “I’ll go, but she is coming with me.” 

She was going to argue, to tell him to stop being such a bull-headed dumbass, but one of the men courtly shook his head before she could even talk. 

“No,” one of them said. 

Gendry crossed his arms in front of his chest, appearing as bulky and tall as he could. “Then no. It's the two of us or neither of us. I should warn you, she seems little and petite, but she is dangerous as a wolf. If you want to take me, you’ll have to knock us both down,” he warned, and her heart felt warm for a minute. 

For long seconds, she was sure they had gotten themselves in a fight. Then, one of the men gave a court nod and asked to follow them. Gendry grabbed their coats and she grabbed their phones and keys before making their way to the parking lot. 

“ _Little and petite_ ,” she scoffed when they were in in the back of a black car. “I’ll have you know; I am stronger than I look.” 

Gendry gave her a small smile. “As if I didn’t already know,” he whispered fondly. 

He weaved their trembling fingers together and Arya held onto his hand like a life line. 

In her mind, the palace where she grew up was as grand as life, but compared to the royal palace, it was as small as a grain of salt. Well, maybe not _that_ small, but when she mumbled it to Gendry, he let out a chuckle and she thought it was worth the comparison. 

They were led through hall after hall, through dining rooms to family rooms to libraries that seemed endless, until they finally reached the King’s solar. 

Her father had told her great things about Robert Baratheon when she was growing up. How they would’ve been family, had her aunt Lyanna lived, how a great warrior the king was. The truth is, their king was a fat, old men with a receding hair-line and a careless beard that reeked of wine. 

“Boy, what is this woman doing here? We are to discuss some important business,” he mindlessly scolded in lieu of a greeting, downing his cup of ale. 

Gendry stood firm. “Whatever we have to discuss, she can hear it, your grace.” 

Robert lifted a brow, amused, but shrugged nonetheless. “Have it your way. People will know sooner or later anyways.” 

They sat in front of the king as a cupbearer poured wine in their cups. Robert took a large sip immediately after. “So, I guess my guards already gave you a heads up?” 

“They did,” Gendry nodded. “Excuse my impertinence, your grace, but I believe you’ve got the wrong bastard.” 

For a few seconds, there was an awkward silence only accompanied by the splashing sound of wine filling a copper goblet. 

“Lad, I won’t lie to you,” Robert sighed heavily as he downed his cup and motioned to the boy to pour some more wine into it. “You might be someone else’s bastard for all I know, but my people had been tracking down whatever is left of my kin for years and by now, it’s close to impossible they got it wrong. Child, all my late wife ever gave me were incest-born bastards, and the slaughter of my natural children. There are so very few people that could carry my blood, and I ain’t getting younger. They’ll run some blood tests on you in a few minutes, but you have to know, if it comes back positive, you might be my new heir.” 

She had to refrain a gasp escaping her lips. How ironical, she had fallen right into the arms of who could be the new king. 

“What if he doesn’t want to be the new heir?” she asked without thinking. 

The king turned to her, squinting his eyes. “And who would you be, lass?” 

She raised an eyebrow, petulantly. “Does it matter?” 

The King’s eyes widened, as if he had just seen a ghost. “You are a Stark. Eddard’s little one, the one missing, aren’t you?” 

She tried to remain calm. She had underestimated the king; he wasn’t as dumb as he looked. 

“Could your grace answer my question?” she asked instead. 

He let out a belly laugh. “Seven hells, if you aren’t just like your aunt! My sweet, beautiful Lyanna, who would’ve given me strong children and heirs. Though you are slightly wilder than she ever was. She knew when to hold her tongue,” he pointed out and she suppressed a growl. 

_I'll cut his tongue so he can hold it himself_ , she thought, holding back from saying it, and smirked to herself. 

“Pardon me, your grace, but it has been a long night,” she said instead. 

Robert nodded. “Don’t worry about it. Ned will be so happy when he hears the news,” he commented, and before she could protest, he turned to Gendry. “I’m afraid that, if you are my only natural son, then you will be the only heir and henceforth, I won’t let you decline the crown. My other options are Stannis and Renly, but Stannis is in his death bed and Renly won’t ever give the crown any heirs. _You might_ be our only salvation, kid.” 

Gendry frowned, his eyes widened and filled with fear and confusion. She wanted to stand between them and stop this madness that would make her husband go on a rage rampage, but this wasn’t really her battle and if she did put herself out there, Gendry would either ignore her or direct his anger at her. She didn’t want to deal with any of those options, so she prayed to the Old Gods that she wouldn’t have to step in. 

“You don’t even know me! Why would you pass down your crown to someone that can barely read?” he said, exasperated. 

Robert Baratheon shrugged after downing yet another cup of wine. “Maybe I won’t if the results are negative. Then, all I'll have is the ghost of Lyanna Stark to hand back to her family,” the king gave her a happy smile, as if he was doing something good. 

“I am with my family, your grace,” she pointed out, taking deep, steady breaths to stay calm. The king gave her a questioning look. “I renounced the Stark title a long time ago. By law, I am a Waters.” 

Robert was dumbfounded before a grin broke in his face. He looked back and forth between them, and then laughed loudly. “Gods be good! Our families are finally united, and it wasn’t even arranged!” 

Arya felt like she was talking to a wall. She wasn’t a Stark and Gendry wasn’t a Baratheon. No one had been _united_ and she was sure that if there had ever been an arrangement between them, they would’ve fled their respective homes before fulfilling their parents' antics. They were just Waters, two orphans that had fallen in love along the way. 

But she couldn’t say shit, because a maid entered the chambers and, not even seconds after, she was drawing blood from Gendry’s arm. The results would be ready a day after and they would wait in the palace until then. 

_They know_ , she thought as they were led to another chamber. _They know that we’ll escape if they leave us out of their sight._

They paced up and down their room for hours, wondering what would they do. Robert had humored her, promising that her whereabouts would be unknown until they knew the results, but she noticed that he didn’t promised anything for later. Whatever the answer might be, they had been spotted. If they let them go by this time tomorrow, they would have to hurry to their car and ran away as fast as they could, but she was tired of running. Had been ever since they settled down in their little apartment. 

The other option was a lot more terrifying. If Gendry was really Robert’s son, they would be a lord and a lady. She had _never_ wanted to be a lady. When she was younger, she just wanted to ride her horse and learn how to use a bow. As she grew up, all she wanted in life was to dance, and now that she could make a living out of it, they were making her go back to the start. Only _this_ start was a lot heavier with responsibilities. 

Gendry eventually sat on the big bed, sighting. Resigned and tired, she sat on his lap, letting her head fall against his neck. He held her tight against him. 

“What are we going to do?” he asked, desperation crawling in his throat. 

She let her hands wonder up and down his big, built up arms. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She knew he didn’t have a reckless idea, like all the other times they had felt trapped, and he must’ve known she didn’t have one either. “But whatever happens, we’re together.” 

He sighed, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “That we are.” 

They crawled into the bed hours later, holding each other close. “Maybe my family won’t even care about where I am,” she mused on the edge of falling asleep. 

Gendry scoffed. “How could they not?” 

She shrugged. “I’ve been away for a long time,” she yawned. “And I'm married. I can’t be the lady my mother always wanted and she can’t marry me off. Why would they want me back?” 

He held her face between his hands and forced her to look into his eyes. “Because,” he let out a surprised chuckle. “You are so fucking amazing nobody can’t help but love you, Arya. _That's_ why I'm afraid. They'll come and try to take you away from me,” he whispered and she kissed him gently. 

“They won’t. I won’t let them,” she promised. Gendry closed his eyes and hugged her tightly. “You know? They can’t have a say in whatever we do if you are the heir,” she mused and he laughed. 

“It would be fucking funny if I was the heir,” he admitted. “We’ve been living from scraps these past six years and all of the sudden, we would be king and queen,” he joked, and she let out a giggle. 

“Sansa would be so angry her head would explode. Her long-life dream was to be the queen,” she chuckled and they fell in a fit of laughter. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” 

Gendry looked quizzically at her. “We’d have to follow a lot of dumbass rules and have no privacy whatsoever. No more driving off to a hotel if we feel like fucking, or walking downtown to eat pizza,” he pointed out. 

She pressed her lips together. “I know. But think of all the good we could make. We could build houses that would actually work for something in winter and make sure that orphans go to safe places. I wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” she whispered and Gendry looked right into her desperation. 

If there was something Arya had despised all these years, was the fear of being recognized. This was a way out of it and Gendry knew it, so he nodded. “If I'm the heir, we’ll find a way to cope with all the rules and expectations so the smallfolk can have a better life,” he said, honesty dripping like honey from his voice. “If not, we’ll find a way to help like we’ve always had. We'll make everything work,” he promised, and he had never broken a promise before. He wouldn’t now either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> freak fact: remember in last chapter when i pointed out that Arya and Gendry were living in a shitty apartment? well, taken from real life. not my life, but from this friend i made in uni. poor baby spent most of her time out because there were crates on her roof and the place was infested with rats, so she used to find feaces and dust over her bed all the time. Be happy for her, though, because she moved out from that shit-hole in the months we didn't have classes! 
> 
> also, i know that the guards saying that gendry had been already legitimized before taking the blood test was kinda dumb, and i wanted to change it, but shock value, you know? it's just the kind of drama that i enjoy.
> 
> last, but not least, i love tango. if you haven't watched someone dancing tango, then how do you go through life? it's so beautiful. i live close to Argentina, so i've always been exposed to the dance, and i feel like everyone should look it up sometime. for reals. besides, it kinda fits quite good here. Arya is a dancer and Gendry has the muscles to carry her around, you know? it goes well with my fantasy, shut up.


	5. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's tuesday and this is probably the second or third time i upload out of schedule, but bear with me, okay? tomorrow i have a very long day and this is my attempt of delivering kind of in time. I'd like to think that you'd prefer a day before than, like, two days after in matters of updating, y'know? so, yeah. 
> 
> also, i'm back to classes and i'm gonna be full of stuff from now on, but do not fear, my dudes! i'm pretty sure i have a chapter or two left to write and then i'd just have to revise and edit, so don't worry. i should be able to post without trouble. that's it, that's everything i have to say, apart from enjoy the chapter! hope you like it.

[eight post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186667967354)   
[ninth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186667986714)   
[tenth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186667996769)

It wasn’t really surprising when the results came back positive. As much as they wanted to deny it, Gendry had the Baratheon looks. A maester had once wrote in some family book _the seed is strong_. She wasn’t blind; Robert may have been fat and lazy when she met him not even two days ago, but she had internet. It wasn’t difficult to find photos of a younger King, and it just happened that father and son looked just about the same. Black hair, blue eyes, a very manly body. It was undeniable; Arya Stark had married Gendry Baratheon, the spitting image of the king, without even realizing it. She was just glad that Gendry was an incredible improvement from Robert. So far, her father-in-law had proven to be a slug that had enough whores to open his very own whore-house. 

Robert arranged their first appearance as the royal heirs a day after, and both of them felt like they were on shaky grounds. Interviewers came and went through the next few days, and it didn’t take long before people tackled down that Arya was the Water Dancer the world loved. 

She wasn’t used to being in the center of the spotlight (without covering her face, of course), but she found she didn’t hate it. In fact, she was a little overjoyed. Maybe it was the fact that people were recognizing her because of her dancing, or maybe because Gendry was right beside her, doing his utmost to remain calm while also supporting her. She wasn’t very far behind; Gendry had never been the one to be pointed at with five cameras and ten interviewers at once, and she had made it her personal task to make him feel comfortable. She doubted either of them would ever, actually, feel comfortable, but she figured that as long as they stood together, they would be fine. 

Checks from their investments and video profits kept coming in and, since they didn’t need all that money, _especially_ now, she donated half of it and spent the rest in new clothes and blankets that would be distributed around the smallfolk. 

Gendry was being bombarded by teachers and classes and shit that she had endured through her childhood. She didn’t envy him. The one class he managed to skip was a dumb waltz class that was a requirement around highborns’, apparently. Had she stayed at her family home; she would’ve learnt when she turned fourteen. Funny enough, she learnt when she was sixteen with Gendry, and when he said so, the dance instructor just squinted her eyes at him. 

He had rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Waltz is fools’ proof,” he proceeded to say, and she had stifled a laugh. He liked challenges just like she did. Neither were fans of waltz. It _really_ was fools’ proof. It was very fucking hard to mess it up so bad they could break a limb or something, which made waltz all the more boring. 

It was why they preferred tango better. It was passionate and a little violent but very tender all the same, like their entire relationship. She kept wondering if that was why they liked it so much. 

The instructor had insisted for him to prove it. “So I can be sure you’ve received the right training and to correct it if so.” 

They had sighed heavily. Arya hadn’t been questioned. She _was_ a dancer after all. Even if she hadn’t known how to waltz, she could’ve picked up the steps faster than Gendry. 

Then again, Gendry didn’t really look like someone that, somehow, knew any type of dance. If he weren’t so eager to indulge on her wishes, he probably wouldn’t have learnt. 

Gendry vowed in front of her and offered a hand that she took without a second thought. Waltz was tedious and could become boring quite easily, but they had always had their ways to enjoy the stuff they did together, so she shot a grin his way, quietly saying _show me what you’ve got, big boy_. 

Gendry lifted a brow and smirked back. 

He made sure to misguide her as much as she could, taking big, long steps and making her twirl so much her eyes were starting to lose focus, but she felt happy for the first time in the last days. Gendry had a mocking smile plastered on his face and she was trying to hold her laughter back as he dipped her down. 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” she whispered in a little giggle, her voice dripping with a mocking challenge. 

He shook his head and for the final minutes of the song, he spun her around like she was the wheel of a car. He was very lucky his wife was used to it because of her dancing background, otherwise she would’ve puked on him before punching him. 

As the last melody went away, Gendry held her close to him, trying to stabilize her as they laughed their asses off. The instructor was shell-shocked, she noticed immediately. Then she heard a few, timid claps, and she turned to the principal door, wondering how she hadn’t even noticed when people came in. Were they really that enthralled? 

Her parents and siblings were watching stunned at her. She felt a soundless gasp leave her mouth. 

She doesn’t know who took the first step, but one second she had one of Gendry’s hands on her hip and the next, she was pressed against her father’s embrace, both of them silently crying. 

He took her face between his hands, cleaning the tear streaks to no avail and smiling amused at her. “My little girl,” he whispered with such tenderness her heart felt like it was being squeezed. “Look at how beautiful you are! And such a talent you have.” 

She smiled gratefully, feeling prideful. “You don’t know how long I've waited to hear that from you, father,” she admitted and Eddard Stark gave her a sad little smile before hugging her again. 

Bran and Rickon barreled towards them not long after, and she let out a surprised, wet laugh at her brothers. Rickon was quite tall for his age, being barely fourteen and all, and Bran looked older than he actually was, an intelligent aura surrounding him like a blanket. She supposed he couldn’t do much more than reading, since being in a wheelchair limited his entertainment options, but he as they smiled at each other, she knew he was long past over his limitations, ever the optimist. 

Her mother made her way between her husband and children to hold her in her arms. She cried even harder. 

She never knew how she felt about her mother, neither growing up or after she ran away. Growing up, she knew she loved her, but she also felt like gauging her eyes out when her mother scolded her, which was admittedly often. She felt comforted in her embrace, but her words stung more than she could ever admit. She felt relaxed as her finger threaded through her hair, but the glares she would receive for not having it as prim and perfect as Sansa damaged an important part of her fucked up brain. 

Still, as her mother peppered with desperate kisses, she couldn’t help but feel like she was a child again, feeling so loved it almost hurt. 

Sansa was –well, Sansa. Tall, beautiful, well dressed and patient, like the lady she had been raised to be. Arya herself was crossed at hugging her or pretending to not notice that her sister hadn’t approached her yet, but Sansa had never been one to do anything that could be _wrong_ , so she threw her arms around her neck and gave her a nervous, stiff hug that lasted long enough for her to feel uncomfortable. 

The entire air felt tense after that, almost like everyone knew they weren’t exactly close to exploit their reunion more than their stiff hug, and she let out a startled laugh, trying to go back to the festive ambient they’d had before it. 

“I -guys, this is Gendry,” she said as she sent Gendry a pleading look before facing them again. Gendry forced a smile and stood by her side. She could feel how tense he was. 

“Nice to meet you all,” he said with the warmest smile he could muster. “I’ve been looking forwards it for a long time,” he added a second after, not knowing what else to say. 

Had he really? She really doubted it. They had come to terms with the fact that they would be alone in the world until they decided to start their little family. Up until three days ago, she had never voiced that she wanted him to meet her family, partially because she didn’t think she would see them ever again. She was sure Gendry hadn’t even realized that being back on the radar would mean meeting her family, and she took pity on him. Poor thing had been caught off guard. 

“Are you the reason my daughter disappeared from the face of the earth?” her mother asked with a fake, forced smile. 

Her eyes widened. 

“I -what?” Gendry asked, dumbfounded. 

“Cat,” her father whispered in a warning tone, but Catelyn ignored him. 

“Well, Robert has told us that your last foster family was located on the perimeters of our family home,” she stated. “And that you haven’t been around since just about the same time Arya went missing.” 

Gendry looked as shocked as she felt. People had noticed? Fuck. _Fuck_. 

“ _Mother_ ,” she said as a warning, seeing as Gendry didn’t know how to even answer to that statement. 

Her mother turned her eyes at her. “I don’t care that he is the heir, Arya. If he kidnapped you, I'll make sure he never wears a crown,” she hissed with widened, angry eyes. She had almost forgot the affinity her mother had to speak without thinking beforehand, much like Sansa. 

“ _Kidnapping?_ Have you met Arya?” Gendry blurted, genuinely confused and most definitely pissed. 

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Catelyn hissed. 

Gendry frowned. “It _means_ that Arya would stab anyone that tried touching her. Nobody's dumb enough to try and kidnap her.” 

Catelyn was at a loss of words for a few seconds, before her eyes filled with anger. “Listen here, you bastard--” 

“Don’t you dare,” she cut in. 

Her mother turned to her, looking very much enraged. Well, that’s where she got her short temple, that’s for sure. 

“This is between me and him, Arya,” Catelyn stated. 

She stomped an angry foot on the ground, and Gendry grabbed her wrist knowing that if she wasn’t grounded now, she would do something stupid, like smashing that dumb vinyl that kept playing Mozart on the background. 

She took a deep breath. “You won’t talk to him that way, mother,” she started, trying hard to control her anger. “He didn’t _kidnap_ me. I would’ve cut his balls before letting him drag me away,” she admitted, and she could almost picture Gendry fighting against his smirk. 

“Language,” Catelyn weakly argued. 

“ _Fuck_ language,” she snapped back. Her mother took a step back. “Nobody took me, I _escaped_ ,” her mother and Sansa let out a surprised gasp as they covered their mouths. It infuriated her how similar they acted. “What did you expect, mom? You drove Jon away and were about to promise my hand to some classy fucker,” she yelled, frustrated. “I was barely thirteen, for _fucks’_ sake!” 

“Arya,” Gendry whispered, and she took a step back, taking another deep breath. 

“I know that running away hurt you,” she said, and a rebel tear fell from her eye. “It hurt me too, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t sew or sing or stay still. I just wanted to run around and to help people, and the moment I did, you took Jon away from me as if it would change anything,” she said, running her hand through her hair. “I hated being away, but I was trapped, mom. Gendry didn’t do anything that I didn’t ask. He’s always had my back, and I love you, but I won’t let you talk down on him. He is my family, and it fucking sucks, but if I have to ever choose, I'll go to him. Don’t doubt it.” 

Her mother looked back and forth between them, silent tears falling from her eyes. Her family didn’t know how to respond. She felt guilty, but everything she said was true. She had spent most of her teenage years without her family, and she knew she would miss them forever, but Gendry was her future. She wouldn’t risk it for her past. 

“Arya, I-” her mother said, but she found herself getting worked up just by hearing her voice. Taking the most mature decision she had ever came up with, she decided that right now it wasn’t a good time for a civilized talk, so she put her hands up, cutting her mother off once more. 

“Sorry,” she said. “But I need fresh air, I just –we'll talk later. Please make yourself at home,” she said before rushing out the room. Gendry followed shortly after, like she knew he would. 

At their chamber, she kicked walls and smashed a cup or two. Gendry waited as she fumed out and when she was exhausted, he took her in his arms and hold her until she got bored of crying. They asked a maid to bring their supper to their chambers and to not let anyone in, not even the king. Their afternoon was spent watching Rick and Morty (Arya’s newest obsession) and eating ice cream while cuddling. She could almost pretend that nothing had changed, that they were in their crappy mattress back in their little apartment, pondering if they should have sex so they could ignore their neighbors' yells. 

(When they left, Mr. And Mrs. Flint had been arguing about one of them cheating and yelling about divorce papers. Gendry hated it, since it remained him a little bit too much to his old foster homes, and Arya had never been nothing but helpful, especially when it came to Gendry.) 

But she wasn’t in their one-bedroom apartment, where they could barely fit two chairs and the bathroom was as big as their ironing table (the same one that used all the free space that was left if they needed to use it). She was in a chamber that was twice the size their apartment, in a soft bed and eating some delicious but very expensive ice cream. 

“Not that I needed it, but thank you for defending me earlier,” Gendry whispered late that night. She could see a little smirk from where she was perched against his chest, and she felt a smile tugging at her lips. This dumb bull. 

“You know how I am,” she smirked and he looked down at her, a quizzical look on his gentle eyes. “I see a damsel in distress and my knight’s blood goes wild,” she joked and he let out a surprised laugh. 

“Thank you, m’lady, for saving me from your familiy’s threat,” he tried to joke back, but she was pushed back on her sour mood of earlier. “Fuck. Sorry,” he said as he noticed it, wrapping his arms tighter around her. 

She shook her head. “I am so angry at her,” she confessed. 

He kissed the side of her face. “You shouldn’t if it’s because of what she said about me,” he said, and she frowned at him, sitting straight up and facing him correctly. 

“You don’t tell me what to do,” she said, scrunching her eyebrows and he sighed heavily, knowing that he had used the wrong words. “And I _am_ mad because of what she said to you. What is her _problem_? Her first words are insults to my husband? Hell _fucking_ no.” 

He sat up as well, covering her tights with his big hands. “I love how protective you are, but this is your family, Arry,” he whispered, slightly squeezing her knees. “I know that what she said was wrong, and it pissed me the fuck out, but that doesn’t matter if it stains your already damaged relationship with your mother.” 

“Gendry,” she said exasperated, her hands landing on his hair and running her fingers through it. “I can’t sit around and hear people talking shit about you. Would you do that if you were on my spot?” 

They stared at each other for long seconds, and she saw the answer in his eyes before he voiced it. 

“No.” 

“ _Exactly_ ,” she said as her hands fell to the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what’ll happen next, but I do know that I’ll protect my pack at all costs and that’s final, so stop trying to mend my life because you can’t. Now, let me watch my cartoons at peace or fuck me into oblivion. Your choice.” 

And as he always did, he indulged in her wishes without questioning her. She was just grateful that their chambers were high above the guests’ chambers, because Gendry was nothing but a man of his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i should clear the air sooner rather than later, right? so, and don't hate on me, i never really liked Catelyn. Granted, on the show she was a lot less annoying (for me, at least), but i didn't like her in the books. Don't get me wrong, she brought amazing perspectives and thoughts to the storyline, and much on George Martin's fashion, she was a flawed character, but for me it just didn't work. 
> 
> i also haven't re-read the books in a long time, so she is probably very out of character, and maybe it wasn't very smart to include her, but to me, it's a big part of Arya's character development in the books. My girl has struggled with self-steem since day one, and while i do believe Catelyn was a good mother, she also openly compared both her daughters, which is never good. you cannot fight me on this. 
> 
> Sansa is straight up annoying, sorry. i don't hate any of the characters, but i find some of them annoying, so sorry if you actually like either Cat or Sansa. neither are villians on the books, so i won't put them as villians here, but i have to be honest; I could never see Arya just forgetting shit and moving on like nothing. I do not know what'll happen in the books, but at least in here and from how things went down when Arya escaped, i'll explore their reunion the way i believe it would go. 
> 
> So, yeah. hope you like it:)


	6. Chapter V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's wednesday, my dudes. 
> 
> I have hella lot of shit to do and i'm on the edge of having an actual mental breakdown, but i'm still posting. i can't believe how responsible this makes me feel. i should really be doing uni stuff, but whateva, i like myself enough to let me have a little break before i go mad. 
> 
> well, that's it, that's my rant. enjoy! <3

[eleventh post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186852915594)   
[twelfth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/186852927454)

Avoiding her mother proved to be easy. Catelyn and Sansa spend their days with Olenna Tyrell, an old lady from an old, powerful house. She had come barging a day after Gendry had been named the official heir, saying that she wouldn’t bend the knee to no commoner until they proved to be worthy of the crown. She had a sharp tongue and little to no care of other’s people's feelings. Gendry and Arya were obsessed with her. Until her family arrived to the castle, they used to spend all their free time on Lady Olenna’s chambers. The old woman wasn’t friendly, per se, but Arya was sure that she liked them. In the shy days she had been in the capital, she had fired half her maids and a quarter of her guards because they were _incompetents' fucks_. She had a feeling Olenna liked them. They would _for sure_ know if that wasn’t the case. 

And for three full days, she was annoyed out of her mind because she barely saw the old, grumpy lady. Gendry told her that he tried to sit with her and talk for at least a few minutes, but with all the classes he had and with her mother constantly perched on Lady Olenna’s wing, he had given up. Arya had found him in the middle of the night lighting candles, silently praying to the old Gods and new that lady Olenna wouldn’t get offended that they hadn’t spent time with her. They needed her family’s alliance. And they enjoyed her company, even if they didn’t want to admit it. 

At least she got to bond with Bran and Rickon. Bran was smarter than she remembered, and Rickon was still a wild little boy, although he managed to tone it down for their lady mother. She envied them a little. They were really, _really_ close, like siblings were supposed to be. Like _she_ was supposed to be. When she ran away, the only sibling she was really close with was Jon. Robb was amazing, but he was always busy with father, since he was the first-born son and all, and Rickon had been barely six years old the last time she saw him. Bran had been a year or so younger than her, but growing up, they didn’t really have much in common. Bran liked books and learning and spending time drawing or writing. Arya liked running around and riding her horse. Before Bran had his accident that left him a cripple, they used to climb trees and towers together. Maybe their positions distanced them, but she never doubted her love for either of her brothers. 

Sansa was a completely different story. 

She remembered Sansa like the female, nastier version of Robb. The perfect daughter and the perfect son. Ironically, Sansa had been a pain in their parents’ asses, because her standards were so high, she refused to get married to anyone that wasn’t the heir to the crown, which explained why she hadn’t even glimpsed at her since she stormed off in the ball room (she figured Sansa was avoiding her just as much as she was avoiding her mother), whilst Robb had been disowned a few years ago for marrying a woman without the consent of either set of parents. 

Out of spite, she invited Robb and his wife to the Royal Ball that the king was throwing in their honor in a week. Then, she invited Jon and sent those _Men in Black_ guards to search for Hot Pie. She missed his black bread. Maybe Gendry could smack some sense into him and convince him to stay as a royal cook. 

She even went riding with his dad and Robert to avoid her mother. She loved her father, and she wished nothing more than to spend some quality time with him, but she could bear the kings’ company for so long. Still, she got to talk to her dad, changing the topic every time it drifted to the fall out with her mother. 

(Was it a fall out? She wanted to believe their relationship could still be saved, but could it?) 

She had been asked to oversee the ball arrangements when she collided with her mother in the library. It was bound to happen, and she was aware of it. It didn’t mean that she was looking forward to it. 

Catelyn Stark looked as regal as ever, followed by her oldest daughter and their septa, the damned women that had always looked down upon her. There was a lot that she could forgive. Septa Mordane wasn’t one of those things. 

“Arya, my dear, would you please spear a minute of your time for your mother?” she asked, standing strong and tall. She could’ve rolled her eyes. She had yelled at her mother just a few days earlier, she couldn’t care less for formalities. 

She glanced at the woman that was in charge of the decorations, the one that had been bugging her for days with different colors of tablecloths that looked exactly the same to her, and quietly nodded at her. “Why don’t you go ahead and choose the color yourself? I'm sure it’ll look stunning,” she encouraged and the woman put on a tight smile on her face before she gave her a slight bow. 

She had told her to not do such thing, but people here were almost as stubborn as herself. She hated it. And she hated tablecloths. She could almost hear the planner whining about the future queen not being engaged with her people because of a _damned_ tablecloth. 

“Can we please sit down and talk properly?” her mother asked as the door closed. 

She let out a sigh and motioned to a sitting area in front of a hearth. She got comfortable on a single sofa, crossing her legs and arms in front of herself. Septa Mordane looked frustrated already. Arya, unlike the other ladies in the room, was wearing pants. It wasn’t very scandalous, if she was being honest. Plenty of women used pants around the castle, but Catelyn Stark had always pushed her daughters to be the image of a perfect, highborn lady. Growing up, she allowed them to have one pair of pants that could only be used on Sunday, unless there were visitors. Septa Mordane made sure to always somehow ruin her pants, because Sansa had never contradicted their mother or their Septa. Only Arya caused trouble. 

And again, she couldn’t give less of a fuck. She was comfortable and she loved her high waisted pants. She wasn’t going to give them up _ever_. 

Her mother opened her mouth a few times, trying to start the conversation, but not a sound came out. As the seconds passed, the air got uncomfortable, and she got tired of it. 

“So, what it’s gonna be now? My escape, Gendry or how I dress?” she asked, feeling her blood slowly starting to boil. 

“The future Queen shouldn’t be wearing pants and a top that barely covers her breasts,” Septa Mordane muttered, and Arya glared at her. 

“I’ll walk around naked if it fucking pleases me,” she snapped back, and the Septa looked rightfully shocked. 

“You little wildling--” 

“Enough!” Catelyn cut in, glaring at the Septa. “One thing at a time. Dress code isn’t my concern right now,” she stated, and Septa Mordane gave her a court nod. Then, Catelyn looked back at her. “My child, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior ever since our arrival,” she said with bright eyes full of regret. “You have to understand; I haven’t heard of you in years and then Robert calls us saying that you are to be the future Queen? That he found his last surviving son and that he refuses to stay away from you?” 

She narrowed her eyes at her. “The king said that?” 

She had a very different memory of it. When Robert told the maids to escort them to their _respectful_ chambers, she realized that they would get separated just as Gendry said _no_. Robert had frowned at him, and she had said _we’re already married. What does it matter if we sleep in the same bed?_

Robert had laughed and said that the boy needed a night alone, purposefully winking at Gendry. Arya had proceeded to threaten to poison his wine, and Gendry had stated that he wouldn’t be able to stay calm without his wife by his side. Thankfully, Robert had been drunk enough to dismiss her threat and sober enough to consider Gendry’s plea reasonably. 

Of course, Robert could only remember whatever his son said. He never really payed attention to her, not seriously anyways. When she threatened anyone, which seemed to be often lately, he would laugh it out, commenting on how she reminded him of Lyanna. _Sweet_ Lyanna. Gendry looked worried every time it happened, because he knew her, and knew how very _capable_ she was of beating the shit out of people. She kind of took comfort in knowing that her husband knew her well, while also letting her be, you know, _herself_. If it weren’t because she felt mushy at how attentive Gendry was, she would’ve bitch-slapped Robert the night they met him. 

Her mother nodded, as well as Sansa. “He said he was _his father’s son_ , and I couldn’t believe how Ned’s own best friend would let you be dishonored in such a way,” she said, visibly upset, taking her hand between hers. “Please, my sweet summer child, tell me the truth, were you kidnapped? Has _he_ been taking advantage of you?” she pleaded, her voice breaking with each word as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. 

She felt so much at the same time it overwhelmed her. She felt cared for, because her mother _had_ been worried for her, and angry at what she was implying, and a little amused at how dense her mother was. She didn’t know if she wanted to yell or cry or laugh. 

What she managed at the end was a nervous, confused giggle. “Again with the kidnapping,” she said with a tight smile. “I ran away the night you sent Jon away, mother. I left a note, I said goodbye and I even took my clothes. If I had been kidnapped, I don’t think any of those things would’ve happened.” 

Catelyn broke down crying, letting her head fall against their laced hands. “Then why did you left? Why would you leave your family?” 

Arya blinked back her tears. “I wasn’t the kid you wanted, mother,” she stated, and Catelyn lifted her head to argue, but she shook her head and continued. “You wanted another Sansa,” she said, and said sister looked taken aback. 

“It wasn’t my fault you were obsessed with disobeying orders, Arya,” Sansa said, ready to argue as well. 

Funny enough, she hadn’t meant to make any kind of jab at her. 

“I never said it was your fault,” she frowned at her and Sansa tightened her lips. “I just stated a fact: I didn’t want to be a lady. It just happened that you were also a perfect lady. At your side, I would always be the fuck up,” she shrugged. 

“Language,” her mother muttered at her. She looked at her. 

“Look, I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry for yelling at you the other day, but I can’t apologize for running away. I couldn’t stand it. I saw people suffering on the daily and when I came home, all you ever talked about was gowns and ladies and songs and stuff that _don’t really matter_ , mother. I thought that I could be happy if I helped, but then you drove Jon away and I couldn’t understand what I did wrong. All I wanted was to make sure some smallfolk would have enough furs to make it through the winter, and I got punished for that,” she said, and she shoot from her seat, pacing back and forth, unable to stay still. “And the first thing you do when you see me again is diss my husband? Not only he is the heir, he is my best _fucking_ friend, mother. I've punched more men and women I can count because they said something shitty to or at Gendry, and I would never punch my family, but I can’t let it slide either.” 

Catelyn gaped at her. “You’re married to him?” 

Sansa and the Septa gasped. She just rolled her eyes. Was everyone blind? She wore a wedding band, had stated many times that she had taken Waters as her last name and even had matching tattoos with the dork she married. Fuck's sake. Couldn't they make her work just a tad bit easier? 

“Of course, I'm married to him. Why else would the king let us sleep together? He has more whores than common sense, but he would never risk his friendship with father. That's about the only reason he pretends to ignore me when I snap at him.” 

_That or he is always way too drunk to realize I'm mocking him._

“I- you- you?” Catelyn stuttered, looking so confused Arya almost felt like throwing a tantrum. “Willingly?” 

How very much faith her mother had in her. 

Then again, how could she blame her? She _had_ been a little rascal growing up. She used to burn her dresses and pretend that it had been an accident. She fell asleep during weddings, and when Sansa sighed at love songs she pretended to puke. No wonder nobody thought she would be married so young, if ever for that matter. 

“ _Very willingly_ ,” she said, sounding a little bit too bratty for her own liking. “But that’s not the point, mother. If you want _this_ ,” she flicked a finger between them “to work, you’ll have to understand that I won’t change for you. I love you dearly, but I can’t sit around all day pretending to be a lady and gossiping like a bored house-wife. The only reason Gendry and I are still here, bearing with all these responsibilities neither of us wanted, is because we want to help people, and that’s exactly what we’ll do. I need you to respect my choices, even if you don’t approve of them, and that includes Gendry, so I would be very pleased if you apologized to him.” 

She stood in front of the hearth, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes as hard and cold as steel looking right into her mother’s blue eyes. Catelyn stared right back, fighting a silent battle for dominance, but she underestimated her daughter’s stubbornness. Arya wasn’t the one to lose, simply because she was a sore loser. Eventually, Catelyn closed her eyes with a sigh, and nodded. 

“I will,” she said, and lifted herself from the sofa. Sansa and Septa Mordane were silently watching the scene unfold in front of themselves. “I will apologize as long as you promise me that he’s treated you as good as you were supposed to be.” 

Her mother reached for her hands and she took them carefully, worried that the air would turn tense at any given moment. Catelyn’s hands were as delicate and warm as she remembered, unlike her little hands with short fingers that refused to be anything but cold. Under her mothers’, worried stare, she felt warm, as if Catelyn’s hands were touching her from within to melt away all her cold blood. 

She gave her mother a tiny, sweet smile that crept into her lips every time she thought about Gendry. “He’s treated me better than I deserve,” she assured. 

Hot Pie and the few friends they had made through the years could vouch for her. She could be an annoying _asshole_ if she felt like it, and Gendry had stayed by her side anyways. She would never understand how –or why- he put up with her. He wasn’t an angel, that she knew, and if they were moody at the same time, they could snap at each other for hours, but Gendry had taken his sacred time learning how to placate her anger or cool her down if needed, or when to let her be and stay quiet by her side. He knew her better than she knew herself, and while it sometimes made her go so mad she thought she would implode, it also made her feel grateful for having someone as attentive as Gendry as her best friend. 

Catelyn gave her a sympathetic smile, and Arya knew that her mother wasn’t convinced, but she wouldn’t put up more of a fight now that one had just been avoided. “Very well, then. I would like you two to join us to supper tonight. I hope it isn’t too late to change his mind about me,” she gently joked, and Arya let out a giggle, mostly out of relief and happiness. 

“Sure,” she answered. “The family together for supper, just like the good old times.” 

Catelyn’s smile was a little bit more honest after that. She found herself wrapped around her mother’s warm embrace, and she let out a sigh she hadn’t noticed she was holding. “I never thought I would be able to do this again,” her mother admitted, and her throat tightened, a sob threatening to make its way out of her mouth. 

Thankfully, Catelyn took a step back and put a hand against her cheek. She hoped that she didn’t look as fragile as she felt inside. It was like threading in thin ice; every movement and word felt like it would shatter her world. 

Then it hit her. “Robb,” she muttered. Catelyn looked perplexed. Arya scrunched her nose. “I invited Robb and his wife to stay at the palace until the ball,” she admitted, hesitantly. 

She waited for her mother to stomp away from her, to yell or even take her invitation back. Instead, she received a confused, but warm smile. “How nice! We haven’t seen him in almost a month. Your brothers will be ecstatic,” she said, and it was Arya’s turn to look confused. 

“What do you mean a month? I thought you disowned him,” she said, furrowing a brow. 

“Oh, we did,” Catelyn nodded, sternly. “He broke a promise that cost us a great ally and put us in a bad position for years.” 

She furrowed her brows even more. “But he still visits?” 

Catelyn gave her a weirded-out smile. “Of course, he does. That wife of his isn’t my favorite person in the world, but I learnt my lesson. I couldn’t lose another child, not even if Robb made a very selfish choice.” 

She had smiled and felt her hopes get high. Her mother was still stern and strict, but not even that would make her shut down her own children. Not again, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to upload this sooo early you wouldn't believe it, but i had to study and fix two essays and send a homework, all that shit. by the end i fell asleep and now i've finally found time to do this. i can't wait for this semester to end.
> 
> okay, so, do y'all remeber when i said i don't like Catelyn? i stand by it. However, i've always believed that she loved her children dearly, even if she wasn't an amazing mother to all of them. honestly, the only ones that got fucked over by her were Rickon (who she left when he was, like, three years old in the books) and Arya, of course. with that in mind, i do believe that, given the circumstances, she would try to amend her wrongs, so yes, this will be kind of a redemption for her here, i guess. she still annoys me. 
> 
> also, i'm a bitch for drama and surprises. for reals, i've realized that i fantasize with elopments more than i would ever admit out loud, mostly because the scneario is just so dramatic. sometimes i'm like, bitch, i'm marrying the first person that can stand my annoying ass and imma show up in my grandmother's house and be like, _y'all won't believe what i just did_ and cause an actual ruckus in my family. i don't have the balls, but it would be fucking funny. 
> 
> so, yeah, i'm sorry i'm always writing unnecesary drama. it's what i like, and since i'm the one writing, well, you'll just have to accept i can't be as realistic as i would like to be. 
> 
> btw, i've been watching steven universe like the grown adult i am, and it's sooooo good. whatever Rebecca Sugar touches, it turns into gold. i mean, look at Marceline the Vampire Queen? without Rebecca's touch, she would've been, ugh, straight. thank god for that woman.


	7. Chapter VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got distracted and almost forgot about uploading :)

[thirteenth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187015519619)   
[fourteenth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187015541699)

Dinner was...tense? Weird? Unforgettable? Not-very-lovely-but-still-kinda-nice? She didn’t know. All of those accusations were true but also, not quite. 

The thing is, everyone was trying to keep things light. Her parents were being civilized, her brothers were joking around and making conversations up, Sansa was being her polite self, and Gendry was stiff as a board, but she could see he was trying. She kind of wanted to smack his head to make him relax. Her family wasn’t as bad as he thought, or that’s what she told herself. 

Still, dinner was a strange affair. She almost regretted not holding it in the great hall or somewhere more public. That way, the silent wouldn’t feel as heavy every time it fell upon them, but oh, well. Things could definitely be worse. 

“Then Bran said, _don’t worry, my brother’s wolf is tamed, not like his owner_ ,” Rickon said and she couldn’t help but laugh. She was endeared with Rickon. He could be one of her most relatable siblings’ yet, and she loved it. 

Catelyn sighed deeply. “The worst part is that he wasn’t wrong, son,” she said and the table erupted in laughter. 

It was all good-hearted now, but she was sure her mother wasn’t exactly thrilled with the fact that her youngest son was still a little tornado. It was just a matter of time before she started losing patience with them both. 

“Arya, we’ve heard that you are a professional dancer,” her mother said then. She looked at her, trying to decipher if her mother had ill intentions behind her words. Since she couldn’t decide, she nodded with an easy smile on her face and hoped for the best. “And from what we saw that day at the ball room, Gendry dances too,” Catelyn smiled at him. 

She snorted and Gendry chuckled as he shook his head. “Arya dragged me to a few classes of Tango and Walts because she was bored of dancing alone, but that’s all I know of dance,” he conceded. 

“My best idea to date, by the way,” she laughed, conscious of not sounding as fond as she felt. 

Sansa squinted her eyes at her. “It’s funny, sister, that you can actually dance, given how much you despised all the lady-like stuff growing up,” she said with a sweet smile. 

Arya was confused, but she wasn’t exactly surprised. She supposed that Sansa was playing a game she knew nothing about, but she had grown up in the streets. A smug highborn didn’t scare her. 

“I hated waltz. I still kind of do, which is why I learned other types of dances. I didn’t intend to become professional, _per se_ , but the opportunity knocked at my door and we needed the money, you know?” she shrugged. 

Ned narrowed his eyes at her. “Actually, I'm curious about something, child. How did you managed to get to the capitol on your own?” 

She exchanged a careful glance with Gendry. “Well,” she started. Her husband placed a gentle hand on her knee under the table, out of the sight of her family. They didn’t need to know that she needed the silent support from her best friend. “I took some jewels from one abandoned box in an old closet. We pawned them over the years, and the rest is history,” she shrugged. 

Ned didn’t look thrilled about his daughter taking long-lost family jewels, but she assumed that he liked the pawning of cold steel better than his little girl sleeping on the streets or selling drugs. He didn’t need to know that she had gotten quite good at picking pockets. 

Catelyn, on the other hand, looked like she was holding her tongue back to not scold her. Arya was grateful that her mother was trying so hard to avoid more arguments, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew her mother would come back to her and reprimand her. That, at least, would wait. If she played her cards right, she would find a way to escape that conversation. 

After dinner, Rickon offered to settle down on the couch and watch a movie before they all parted ways. Arya considered saying no, not because she didn’t want to spend time with her family (because she really, _really_ wanted to), but because she still felt tense around her mother and sister. Dinner alone had drained her. 

(In that moment, she wished she could go back when she was ten, when there were no responsibilities and life was simple, when family movie nights were her favorite part of the week. It saddened her to realize that, on the verge of turning twenty, she feared watching a stupid movie with her family. Or, well, maybe it wasn’t fear, but what she felt wasn’t joy either.) 

As her father and Bran proposed some titles they had been meaning to watch, she saw as her mother dragged Gendry to a silent corner of the room. She wasn’t very religious, but for once she sent a quick prayer to every god she remembered just in case. She didn’t want to make another scene, but if her mother stirred the pot once again, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back. In the last week, she had been dragged up and down, dressed and interviewed and so much more stupid shit she couldn’t even name that even the breathing of other people bothered her. She felt like screaming every second of the day, from the moment a nosy maid interrupted in their chambers to pull their curtains open at the ass crack of dawn to the moment she let herself fall on their _empty_ mattress because Gendry refused to go to sleep until he finished whatever assignment his teachers left him for the day. 

The worst part is that she was too proud to admit she was miserable. In her (admittedly short) life, she had never felt as overwhelmed or as tired. She was very much done with the fitting of gowns, and proper manners, and lords and ladies, and she was _done_ with overviewing the _stupid_ ball the _stupid_ king was throwing on their _stupid_ behalf, as if they had asked for it. 

(Fucking lazy prick her father in law was.) 

She just kept thinking of ways to escape, while knowing that they wouldn’t. She had let herself be selfish once, but she couldn’t keep escaping all her life, as much as they both wanted to pack their shit and drive away as they had so many years ago. They weren’t teenagers anymore. They had ways of helping, and not a lot of people could say the same. It got better; against all odds, she was in a happy, healthy marriage. People didn’t have that much luck in a lifetime. 

Sure, she would rather be back in their tiny apartment, counting every penny they had to afford a new fridge, and watch dumb cartoons while Gendry was out getting her pads or ice cream. Sure, Gendry was sick and tired of being treated like a dumb peasant, as if it was his fault he wasn’t very good at reading or writing. And, _sure_ , she wanted to punch every one of his teachers because of it, but neither one of them would deny that this opportunity was something good. Not for them, but for the people. 

They had always been too invested in the small-folks' well being, and now it came back to bite them in the ass. How funny. 

To say she was on the edge of a mental breakdown was an understatement. The smallest inconvenience had her triggered, and her mother’s stern look could be _it_ for tonight. Just the cherry on top to end this awful week. 

(All the while, she was trying hard to recall what ONG she hadn’t donated yet. Back when she was eleven, around the time she met Gendry and Hot pie, she had realized that anger could make her do stupid things _or_ very good things. On one hand, she was impulsive and petty. On another, she had an emergency credit card that she never used, so her parents never checked. It all translated into her donating stupid amounts of money to random organizations when her mother yelled at her. Now that she was back at having more money that she could bargain for, she had taken up the habit again. Gendry had quietly laughed when she told him about her anger-ridden donations, but the next day he had stomped in their chambers and asked about any organization that could help clean the ocean. They had stayed up all night talking about how fucked up the world was, and it tasted bittersweet in her tongue. The world was slowly dying, but she had the most amazing person at her side to try to avoid it.) 

In the end, she decided to stop her train of thought before she got herself a in panic attack, and tried her hardest to listen to her father rant on and on about this Leonardo DiCaprio movie he wanted his children to watch, while also keeping a close eye to Gendry and her mother. Much to her annoyance, her husband had been just as tense as herself this past week, so reading his body language was close to impossible. Was he comfortable or pissed? She just couldn’t tell. She almost wanted to make her way there and ask him. 

Then Sansa took a seat at her side and offered a cup of tea. 

She frowned slightly but accepted it anyways. She could do with some tea. 

“So,” her sister started and she forced herself to focus on her voice. “You got yourself a husband.” 

She raised her eyebrows, confused. What was with her family and her marriage? She understood it was unexpected, but really, it could not possibly be _that_ shocking. 

“I guess I did,” she ultimately offered as she sipped from her tea. She would have preferred coffee a lot better, but then again, coffee would only send her mind reeling a lot faster. Sansa sat there, sipping quietly at her tea, looking at nothing and at everything at the same time, and Arya realized that Sansa didn’t know where to go from there to keep their talk alive, so she quietly added: “I never really cared about papers and stuff. It just happened.” 

Sansa frowned, almost surprised at her confession. “You didn’t meant to marry him?” 

She almost pointed out that she was barely a child when they met, so no, marriage wasn’t in her mind back then, but what was the point? She didn’t really like to talk about her life before arriving to the palace to her family, because it only seemed to make them either sad or curious, and she wasn’t fond of any of those reactions. 

In the end, she shrugged, non-committed to the conversation. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t have minded either way.” 

She looked back at Gendry. No, she wouldn’t have minded. He was hers in all the ways that mattered, and that was before they got married. Even with the hard look on his eyes that were locked with Catelyn’s, she couldn’t regret falling in love with him. She hoped, though, that her mother wasn’t accusing him of more of that non-sense conspiracy of hers, because Arya could see he wasn’t exactly elated at being alone with her. Then again, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to look seemingly angry around strangers, and her mother _had_ pissed him off in their earlier days. She wouldn’t have expected _Gendry_ of all people to go all smiley and soft for her mother. 

“Well,” Sansa took a sip of her tea, successfully gaining back her attention. “It’s good you did. It would be scandalous for you to be sharing a chamber out of wedlock,” she said, and proceeded to nod to herself in a private kind of approval. Arya had to force back a snort. 

Her perfect sister. 

“That’s some maidens' bullshit I don’t fuck with,” she admitted bluntly and Sansa spluttered on her tea. 

“Arya!” she hissed with wide eyes, frenetically looking over at their father and brothers, hoping that they hadn’t been eavesdropping their conversation. 

Arya didn’t exactly care, but to Sansa’s relief, their chatter hadn’t been heard by any unwanted ears. Their lord father kept discussing Sinister Island as Rickon scrunched his nose in disgust. 

(She would have too, if she had been engrossed in their conversation. She hated that movie, but she wouldn’t insert herself in that discussion until Gendry returned. Then, she would deem if staying was a good or a bad idea.) 

“Sansa,” she said with a mocking tone that didn’t got past her sister, who looked even more pissed. “People don’t care about that stuff.” 

“People like us do, Arya,” she said sternly. 

She raised a brow. “What a stupid thing to worry about,” she said. Sansa opened her mouth to reply, but she shook her head before any words left her mouth. “Sansa, I don’t want to argue over manners and whatever. I've had enough of that this week.” 

Sansa tightened her lips and averted her eyes. “Tends to happen when you decide to accept the crown,” she said with ease. 

She was impressed at how different Sansa was from when they were children. When she left, Sansa was an open book when it came to emotions. Now, she was a lot more complex than that, but Arya hadn’t spent her teenage years on the road without learning a thing or two about manipulative people. Sansa was _not_ about to guilt-trip her. 

“You and I both know that I don’t want that ugly crown,” she pointed out with a raised brow. 

Sansa was fuming. “Then why are you here?” she shot back. 

She shrugged. “Robert won’t let Gendry decline the title.” 

Sansa narrowed her eyes at her, almost disinterested about Gendry’s existence. “And?” 

Arya let out a frustrated sigh. “Do you even know why I left?” 

Her sister huffed, annoyed. “You’re deflecting.” 

She shook her head. “Mom got mad at me because she found out I had been handing our old stuff to the small folk.” 

Sansa only narrowed her eyes even more, looking so confused and annoyed that it was almost comical. “I don’t follow,” she admitted. 

Arya rolled her eyes at her. “Don’t you see how vain our lives were? How easy? Fucking hell, Sansa, I bet you’ve never felt hunger in your life. Not everyone is as lucky. I used to think that people were happy, that they had a nice family and homes and beds, and it’s not the case! There’s people that need help, and I am in a position to offer them some, you know? Don't sit there and say that I only care about that stupid crown, because all I want is to go back to my apartment and have Gendry cook an awful pasta covered in peanut butter because, for some reason, that’s the only thing we always had left in our fridge.” 

Sansa stood very still. Arya wasn’t expecting a reply or anything, really, but after several seconds, her sister just whispered, “Peanut butter?” 

Arya widened her eyes, not believing that _that_ was everything her sister heard from her rant. “Are you kidding me?” she asked, genuinely concerned. 

Sansa gaped, and shrugged, taken aback. Arya downed whatever was left of her tea and made a mental note to ask for some chamomile tea before going to bed. She couldn’t keep functioning with four hours of sleep per night. It was starting to take a toll on her. 

“Is everything okay?” Gendry said at her back. 

Her father and brothers were still talking at her side and her mother was off making herself a cup of tea. She considered just telling him that no, she just wanted to go the fuck to sleep and wake up in the passenger seat of their car as he drove them far away from this mess they had gotten themselves into. 

But there was something about Gendry that reminded her to take a deep breath and think rationally. Her mother was smiling slightly and her husband seemed a lot less tense, and she didn’t have to be a genius to know that their conversation had gone good enough for them to be on good terms. She could keep running at every problem that stumbled upon her, sure, but she was so tired. 

So she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Yeah,” she assured him with a little smile. Gendry narrowed his eyes at her, and she knew he would ask about this little talk afterwards, but for now, he let it go. She then turned to Sansa. “Can we finish our chat other day?” she said, as calm as still waters. 

Her big sister nodded, looking relieved that Arya hadn’t exploded right in front of her. 

Ned clapped his hands as Catelyn made her way to the couch. “Are we watching a movie or what?” 

She looked over at Gendry, a silent question in her eyes. He shrugged, a clear sign for her to take the reins, and she decided that she wanted to connect with her family again, by all means necessary, so she patted the spot at her side, motioning at Gendry to sit by her, and he beamed quietly. 

She let her head fall against her shoulder and he kissed the crown of her head. That alone made her feel renewed. 

“As long as it isn’t Sinister Island.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized how little time i've got left to finish this bitch and got myself a little anxious, but everything's fine. I wish i could promise quality chapters, but maybe they hadn't been that good since i've had a lot less time to re-read them before posting. 
> 
> All in all, i hope you're enjoying reading this story! I haven't really read over the comments (because who knows, maybe i stumble upon something that bums me or whateva, and i don't want that), but the few i've read are sooo amazingly nice! i'm sorry if i haven't replied, but bear with me, okay? i'm in my first year at university, and i lost two entire months because of protests, so life has been hectic to say the least. thankfully, i'm already writing the epilogue, so you guys won't have to stress over this story being incomplete, which was my n°1 target. 
> 
> whatever, back to the chapter. Listen here: Sansa is a lot of things. Queen isn't one of them.
> 
> Yes, she is smart. yes, she knows how to play the game of thrones. so what? Cersei was smart and knew the game, and that didn't make her a good queen. her people dispised her, and the feeling was mutual. Sansa isn't cruel either, not like cersei, but do not come here and say that she didn't care about power, because that's her entire arc. up until the end (of the show, of course) all she wanted was power. all that story-line about northeners liking her, and Sansa being worried about them? miss me with that bullshit. 
> 
> i think that, if for some reason she ends up being queen (in anywhere but the north, because she is marrying that hardying guy in the books, and i don't believe she will end up a stark by the end of the series), George Martin give her a better arc than "I am the last stark that can hold the north, even if i'm not technically a stark anymore". no, girl.


	8. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope it isn't too late.

[sixteenth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187178643079)  
[seventeenth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187178656699)

Arya came to discover that the Jeynes’ in the world just had it out for her. 

First there was Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s best friend, that had bullied her growing up. Nowadays, she would still look down upon her, even if she tried to mask it. It wasn’t Arya’s fault that maidens kept braiding her hair while knowing that she hated her hair being pulled up and down. It was bound to end up being a mess, whilst Jeyne Poole’s hair would always look clean and in order, much like Sansa’s. 

It was a good thing that Jeyne kept her thoughts to herself, though. She would raise her eyebrows and scoff when she heard Arya complaining about her outfit (that was always too delicate and uncomfortable to wear), but she never said anything. 

Then there was Jeyne Westerling, Robb’s wife, that had seemed nice for an entire day before she decided she couldn’t stand Arya, apparently. Then, her smile turned sour and every glance directed her way was toxic. 

She could not understand why. She had been nothing but _nice_ to her. She had talked to her at the family dinner that their parents set up when Robb arrived, and had offered to show her around before the ball, unlike Sansa and her own mother that either ignored her or limited themselves at asking about Robb’s well-being. 

The morning after Robb and Jeyne arrived had been hers and Gendry’s two-years marriage anniversary, and Gendry had woken her up with coffee, pancakes, and a few scattered comments about a nice dinner in the afternoon to celebrate (and some _good_ sex, but that was besides the point). Beaming (and fully satisfied), they went to one of the family rooms to watch Kill Bill before they had to leave for their date, and that’s where her family found her. Actually, that’s where they found her family. Of all the rooms in palace, they all had to be in this one? Unbelievable. 

But then they were singing happy birthday and a cake was presented in front of her and Jon was jumping from behind a door and engulfing her in a tearful embrace as he kissed her hair. 

Right. It was her birthday. 

So they chatted and laughed and ate while the movie played in the background. Her mother gave her a very elegant gown that she could wear for fancy events (and she actually liked the color of the fabric, so she was genuinely excited to wear it in the future), and her father gave her a beautiful book of female leaders of Westeros. She almost cried. 

Sansa and Jeyne Poole gave her make-up and perfumes, and she could swear they snickered a little as she checked her presents out. She actually liked the fragrance they had chosen, and the palate of eyeshadows they gave her had some nice colors, so she didn’t really care much about their attempted jab. 

Rickon and Bran gave her a new PlayStation, since she had said that she hadn’t played with one since she was twelve. She had let out an appreciative laugh at her brothers. Somehow, they had gotten her a better present than she would’ve expected. 

Robb and Jeyne Westerling gave her some crops and a hoodie. She loved wearing crops, it was her favorite attire in the world, but hoodies? She normally wore Gendry’s, since they engulfed her and it made her feel all warm and fuzzy, but the hoodie they gave her was so cute that she decided right there and then that she would make an effort to use it regularly. 

Jon and Ygritte, his girlfriend (the one girlfriend that she really liked, since she was just about as wild as she was), gave her a set of custom-made earrings that she completely loved. It was no secret that she liked to wear four earrings in each ear, and she enjoyed arranging her jewelry to look dangerous but delicate, much like her dancing. Their gift was very appreciated, even with Catelyn’s silent scowl behind them. 

Gendry gave her professional ballet shoes (her own pair!) and a corsage of red roses for her to wear for their date. She had to control her entire self to not jump on him right there, in front of her entire family. Sansa just narrowed her eyes at them. 

“Do you even like flowers?” 

Arya had to control herself from rolling her eyes. Why wouldn’t she like flowers? 

“Roses are beautiful but filled with thorns to protect themselves. They’re like the nature version of Arya,” Gendry said instead with a teasing tone, but she doubted the fondness dripping from his voice could escape her family. 

“Yeah, I can cut bitches,” she said to deflect the blush that sat high in her cheeks. In the way, she also covered Rickon’s mocking _‘aww’_. 

“Language,” Catelyn scolded with a sigh as her siblings and father laughed. 

And that’s when she noticed Jeyne’s frown. When everyone settled in the couch to finish the movie, she approached to her to ask when they could explore around, but Jeyne gave her an indifferent look and shook her head. 

“Sansa is going to show me around tomorrow, don’t worry.” 

Then she made her way to Robb´s side and didn’t take her eyes off the screen again, leaving a very confused Arya behind. 

What the hell had just happened? 

She quietly made her way to Gendry’s side, who opened his arms and offered her some popcorn. He eyed her with curiosity, knowing right away that there was something bugging her, but she just scrunched her nose and whispered ‘later’ before letting her head drop in his shoulder. He kissed her hair and didn’t ask for the popcorn back. 

She refused to worry about other people for the time left, because it was her fucking anniversary. She was twenty, and she had been married for two entire years. She almost wanted to pat herself on the back. She was _killing_ this wife thing. 

They had lunch together, watched some more movies, talked with her family and in the afternoon, she dressed up nice, had dinner with the man she loved under the starry sky, and got drunk with her best friend that also happened to be her husband. 

(They accidentally broke some glasses as they fucked around in one of the endless libraries. As it wasn’t really late, her family stumbled upon them in the middle of a drunken bet. She said that he couldn’t do a 100 push-ups with her on his back while also singing The Eye of the Tiger, and he betted that she couldn’t finish another bottle of that fancy wine they had found while rapping the alphabet aerobics song, so you can only imagine the mess her family saw when they heard the yells and laughter coming from the one chamber that had enough glass to cut a giant.) 

That incident somehow managed to put her on a worse spot with both Jeynes’. 

(And got her the eternal mocking of Jon and Ygritte, as if they didn’t already have enough material to tease them about. She wished she had as much shit on them, but Ygritte had always been shameless and Jon was a very easy-going guy. Gendry and herself, on the other hand, were very cautious of showing just how much they loved each other in front of other people, so they got easily flustered when they got caught being all lovey-dovey. Ygritte had been mocking them for almost as long as they had been together, and they still blushed like little children.) 

She was being pestered with wine glasses for the upcoming ball when she found Jeyne Westerling in the gardens, and she decided that she needed to clear the air sooner rather than later. It wasn’t like she was desperate to escape from the lady that kept showing her the glasses that were exactly ( _exactly_ ) the same, not at all, but she ushered the woman anyways and rushed to her side. 

Jeyne, who had been enjoying the sun in the gardens, was startled for a second. Her relaxed little smile turned sour so fast it made her a little dizzy. It hurt her a little, but she had never been particularly good at handling emotions, so she found herself getting riled up very quickly. 

“Why do you hate me?” she blurted before she could control herself. 

In her defense, she had been bombarded with responsibilities once again after her birthday, and with the ball so close, she hadn’t been able to breathe properly in days. She thought she had every right to demand answers when she had so little time. 

(And being upset when it came to it). 

Jeyne frowned and forced a fake smile on her face. “What are you talking about? Your grace.” 

Her own brows shot to her hairline. “Don’t call me that. I’m not stupid. You have some kind of problem with me and I don’t get why,” she admitted. 

Jeyne shrugged. “It’s because I don’t.” 

Arya stomped in front of her before Jeyne had the chance to walk away. 

“Listen,” she growled. “I don’t fucking care if you don’t like me, but at least pretend that we can get along for the sake of my family. I am not driving Robb away, and neither are you. Are we clear?” 

Jeyne stared at her with something close to fear. 

She really should remember that she was more wolf than woman. Everyone that forgot, had ended up in hospital. Jeyne was lucky she was part of her brothers’ pack, otherwise she wouldn’t have managed to hold herself back. 

She felt a wolfish grin rest on her face just before Jeyne teared up. Then, the grin dissolved into thin air and she forced back a frustrated scream. She was _not_ dealing with a cry-baby, na-ah. 

“You have everything and you don’t even realize it,” she cried, and Arya took a step back. 

“Sorry?” she asked, confused. 

Jeyne gave humorless laugh. “You have beauty, talent, charisma, a family that loves you and a man that would give you the moon if you asked for it. On top of that, you’ve been princess for, what? A week and a half? And the country already loves you more than they ever loved a royal. I’ve got a husband that married me out of honor and a family that barely recognize my existence. Ever since I married Robb, people had been avoiding me like the black plague because they think I'm some kind of gold-digger,” an exasperated sob wrecked through her. “Nothing I do seems to be right and I can’t even make your family like me! Do you know how long I’ve been married to Robb? Four years! Four fucking years and Sansa barely even nods in my direction. Catelyn calls only when Robb won’t pick up his phone, and they don’t even notice me if I’m in the same room. Am I that awful to be around?” 

She was full-on crying. Arya didn’t know if she wanted to embrace her or snap at her. They weren’t close. What do you do when someone you’ve barely talked to broke down? She didn’t even know what to do when she _herself_ broke down. So, without really knowing what to do, she shushed Jeyne and rubbed on her arm uncomfortably, hoping it would calm her down. 

(She had a feeling she was only making it worse, but hey, at least she was trying). 

“Jeyne?” she whispered when the woman in front of her seemed to be breathing a little bit more easily. Jeyne lifted her gaze and Arya scrunched her nose. “My mother and sister are hard people to deal with. Sansa has dreamed with that damned crown since before I was born, so you can only imagine how _thrilled_ she is that I married the last remaining son of Robert,” Jeyne snorted a surprised laugh. “And my mother is a little stuck up. Like, she yelled at Gendry when she first met him, saying that he kidnapped me and shit,” Jeyne let out a loud laugh. “Don’t pay them too much attention. _Or_ Jeyne Poole, because she is a real bitch.” 

Jeyne whined low on her throat. “That little brat. She keeps introducing herself every time I greet her. I’ve known her for four years, I know her stupid name,” she sighed. Arya let out a giggle. 

They found a little bench under a tree, and, wordlessly, they took seat. Aya felt herself warming up rapidly to Jeyne, even if she had been fast to dismiss her on the beginning out of jealousy. She couldn’t blame her; Jeyne just wanted the approval of people. Now, to that she couldn’t relate, but she could understand to a certain point. 

“And Robb? I’m sure he loves you. He never leaves your side when my mother or sister approach to you, isn’t that a good sign?” she added as an after-thought. 

To her, it was. Maybe he never stepped in to stop their mother or sister from saying something that could offend his wife, but at least he could make sure they didn’t try to mess with her when he was right by her side, right? 

Jeyne shrugged. “He never says anything when they make comments about our marriage.” 

“Yeah, he is scared shitless of them,” she stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jeyne chuckled, because it wasn’t really a lie. “But you should talk to him about that one.” 

She narrowed her eyes at her, “did you do that with Gendry?” she asked with curiosity. 

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Gendry has more balls than common sense,” she offered. He wasn’t called _the bull_ for nothing. 

“So no?” Jeyne asked anyways. 

She let out a sigh. “No. If something pisses him off, he won’t shut up about it. The amount of fights he had started because of his damned mouth is unbelievable.” 

Jeyne smirked. “Funny. You don’t seem like someone that would stay shut either.” 

She shrugged. “I’m not. Which is why I’ve gotten in the same amount of fights as he has.” 

After that, Jeyne Westerling decided that Arya could be her favorite Stark out of the bunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo, i wrote the last chapter! I have to admit that it's a relief to know that i only have to read it over and don't worry much about it, for reals. 
> 
> so, I am not sure where this came from. I gues i got carried away, because i never planned on putting any focus on Jeyne Westerling, mainly because she isn't really important for this story. Then i realized that Catelyn should've been _pissed_ when robb popped out of the blue with a new wife in tow, and i thought that she would never ever blame her dear, older son, hence she would take it out on Jeyne. I guess i wanted to explore that a little, maybe even have some Ygritte and Arya friendship in the background because girls support girls and that's all. 
> 
> If you haven't noticed, one of my favorite headcanons is Ygritte and Arya being rather compatible. I mean, Arya respects the fuck out of strong women (invented feminism), so you _know_ she would get along with Ygritte. i would say that they see each other as sisterly figures, and if that isn't the perfect Westerosi match, then i don't know what is. 
> 
> Lastly, i know i didn't go deeper with Arya and Jon's reunion, because honestly it wasn't that big of a deal for any of them. As stated, they had kept in touch, so i wanted them to be casual about it, rather comfortable, you know? Like, when you have a certainty that there's people in your life that will stay there, no matter what. I hope you know what i mean, because that's the most fulfilling sentiment that i, personally, have ever experienced.
> 
> That's it! hope you enjoyed <3


	9. Chapter VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to math and my dumbass forgot i added an entire chapter a few weeks ago :)
> 
> PD: i feel the need to recommend y'all to watch Dear White People on netflix bc it's fucking good. that's it, carry on.

[Eighteenth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187341094029)   
[Nineteenth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187341103254)

She was forced to draw the line when Gendry broke down crying during sex. 

She couldn’t even lie; it wasn’t the first time it had happened. Sometimes they would joke about something dumb while in bed and they would laugh so hard they would cry. Once, they had been through a rough patch and when they mended it, they cried in the middle of it, and she had never felt scared of silent tears streaming down their cheeks while having sex. Not in a million years she would say it out loud, but sex could be overwhelming sometimes. She couldn’t find it in herself to shame on anyone that got slightly over-emotional. 

This time, however, was very much different. Gendry had simply looked at her and started sobbing like a child, saying that he was exhausted but that he didn’t want to let her down. 

She spent hours reassuring him that it was fine, that she never meant to put more pressure on him, but she felt awful for him. He was drained, all because of all the stupid stuff he had to learn and do to make up for the years his own father ignored his existence. 

So, she made a general threat –something about not disturbing Gendry if they wanted their eyes to remain in their sockets– before kissing his forehead and closing their bedroom chambers. She would let him sleep all day if he wanted to. 

She wanted to stay with him, but she had to oversee the few remaining details for the ball first. She hated the task with everything she had in her heart, but at the end of the day it wasn’t anyone’s fault but Robert’s. The people running up and down trying to make the palace look perfect for the ball weren’t going to lose their time because she didn’t want to sign some papers to accept some fucking flowers for table arrangements. 

Her father found his way to her side at some point during the morning, and walked around with her, mindlessly chattering. She had to admit that she missed the tranquility of _this_. Walking with her father, talking about nothing and everything, casually joking around. She just wished things could be as easier with her mother. 

(At least her mother was trying. She supposed they would never have a very easy relationship, not like the one she had with her father, or with Jon or even Gendry, but it wasn’t as terrible as it used to be. Back when she ran away, Catelyn would’ve yelled at her because her breathing was too loud for a lady or something. Now, she was working on being a positive figure in Arya’s life, and she was rejoiced with that change of behavior). 

Around noon, she announced that everyone was free to take the day off and guided her father to the Gods’ Wood. 

It wasn’t a great Gods’ Wood, not like the one at Winterfell, but who even knew how to plan a Gods’ Wood so far south? She figured that it was the best she would get, and hoped that her northern blood would work to call the Old Gods. 

They kneeled in front of the Weird Tree and prayed for a few minutes in silence. Then, her father turned to her and smiled. 

“You’ve become the woman I always hoped you would grow into,” he said fondly and caressed her cheek. 

Her father was a great man. Through the years, she had seen a lot of parents and how awful they treated their children, hitting them and yelling and screaming. There was a lot of stuff going on in her own childhood home, but she grew up with a set of loving parents and amazing siblings. She would never deny them of that. 

Her father, though. Ned Stark had lost so much when he was younger that it made him appreciate what he had a lot more than other men did. He was a good, respectful husband, an amazing friend and the greatest father she had ever seen. 

(Sometimes, when she lay awake at night admiring her husband, she wondered if Gendry would be as great a father as hers was. She could only hope her children were so lucky, but only time would tell). 

“I’m sorry I had to grow away from you,” she whispered, tearing up. 

(She wouldn’t cry, not again. She _hated_ crying, and ever since her family arrived to the palace, it seemed like a dam had broken in her stupid eyes. She hated it). 

Ned chastised. “No, child. It was fate. You shouldn’t apologize for that,” he said. 

She looked up to him, confused. “You think running away wasn’t a bad idea?” 

Because it hadn’t been a great idea either. She had missed sleeping on a good bed and having fresh fruit to eat far more than she would ever dare say out loud. 

Ned scrunched his nose. “No, I would never say such thing.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and her father sighed. “I wish I had been able to avoid it. I missed sacred years of watching you grow because I didn’t know how to let my children be free.” 

She took his hand around hers. “Father, no, it wasn’t your fault, I--” 

“Oh, but it kind of was, sweetling,” he sighed. “You’ve always had the wolf’s blood, more than any of your siblings have, and I was so scared of that,” he admitted, with a sad smile playing in his face. “I thought you would end up like Lyanna, dying before her time, so I tried to keep you grounded. All you wanted was to fight and discover, just like Lyanna, but unlike my sister, you couldn’t be tamed,” he let out a wet chuckle. “I guess what I'm trying to say is that, even though I would’ve loved to be by your side throughout these years, I'm glad you chose freedom on your own. I'm glad that you proved me wrong by being smarter than what I ever thought. Mostly, I'm _glad_ you’ve been able to form opinions and voice your thoughts in a way not many ladies in court know how to do, because you’ve become a young woman worthy of having such great influence in such a great kingdom.” 

She was left speechless. Nobody had deemed her _worthy_ as anything in her life. It felt so nice hearing her own father stating it. 

(Actually, thinking back, Gendry had tried to reassure her time and time again that she was more than worthy of everything she had, but she had a hard time believing such great words. She hadn’t been worthy growing up. She figured that she would never achieve so much). 

In the end she gave her father a teary smile and threw her arms around his neck. 

“Also, and don’t tell your mother, I think you’ve managed to marry the last good man Westeros has to offer,” his father whispered in a teasing tone. 

She took a step back, shell-shocked. Her father _approved_ of Gendry? 

“You mean it?” 

Not that she needed any approval, but it would be nice to have it nonetheless. It would ease her mind a little, knowing that at least someone in her family genuinely liked him. Apart from Jon, obviously. 

He scrunched his eyebrows together. “Well, nobody deserves my little girl, but he definitely comes close to it.” 

She let out a giddy laugh and her father embraced her again. 

(Not even a year later, Ned Stark would be forced to admit that Gendry Baratheon did, _indeed_ deserve his daughter, especially since Sansa had decided to move on with her life and had gotten engaged to Harrold Hardyng, who wasn’t half the man Gendry was. Sure, he was great man who genuinely loved his eldest daughter, which was a relief, but with the Baratheon boy by his side, he bit the dust. Harrold would be an amazing husband, but Gendry idolized the ground Arya walked on, and that was the least his daughters deserved). 

(Sansa would meet Maergery Tyrell four years into her marriage, and would realize that marrying Harold was not only a mistake but a stupid infatuation. Things would be hard, especially since she was expecting her first child, but those problems would eventually work out. Harold wasn't cut out to be a parent, while Maergery adored their children, blood-related and not. She didn't regret a thing). 

They parted ways after a quiet lunch. She had compelled her father to lay down and enjoy the calmness of the empty palace. He didn’t have to be asked twice. 

She stumbled upon Jon just outside one of the family rooms. Her brother smiled broadly and embraced her, like he had been doing these past few days. 

Unlike with the rest of her family, Jon and Arya had seen each other through the years. He had stayed at the army for a few years until some of his “brothers” started showing their true, traitor, colors, so he left. She would force Gendry to drive to The Neck once a year or so to visit her brother, and six months after her sixteenth birthday, he had met Ygritte. All in all, they had always stayed connected through spontaneous visits and monthly phone calls, but they had always been so close that all their little meetings didn’t cut it. 

So, Jon had been hugging her every time he spotted her, which she found stupid and adorable at the same time. She wouldn’t whine about it, but she feigned annoyance anyways. Jon could see it was fake, so he didn’t stop. She didn’t want him to. 

“What’re you up to?” she asked, eyeing the bag of popcorn he had in his hand. 

“Movie night with the wifey,” he smiled. 

“You aren’t married,” she pointed out with a roll of her eyes. 

He gave a mindless shrug. “We are. Spiritually.” 

She let out a chuckle. 

Jon and Ygritte were the most careless couple in the world. It wasn’t bad. Jon used to be very uptight growing up, trying to be good at everything to make up for the fact that he was a bastard, so it was a good change to see him lay back and enjoy life. Ygritte had that effect on people. They balanced each other just right, and she knew for a fact that marriage wouldn’t make a difference to them. 

“Who officiated, that ginger friend of yours? The giant-milk drinker?” she joked, and Jon let out a surprised laugh. 

“Tormund tried to force me to buy an engagement ring, actually,” he provided instead. 

She raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing on her lips. “Did you?” 

He shook his head. “If I ever find a stupidly perfect ring, maybe, and just maybe, I will propose.” 

She nodded. “Or go safe with matching tattoos. I can already picture it; _property of Ygritte_ ,” she joked with big gestures of her hands. 

He stook out his tongue, like the responsible, full-grown adult he was. 

“We don’t need that shit,” he ultimately said. “Besides, I don’t like married women.” 

She snorted out a laugh. “Good to know,” she simply answered. “Do you, by any chance, know if Gendry’s still in bed?” 

He closed his eyes painfully. “Please don’t say ‘Gendry’ and ‘bed’ in the same sentence. I'm still trying to picture you as my little, innocent sister.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I made him take a day off. He was _sleeping _. You know, in a bed?”__

__He let out a relieved sight. He could be so dramatic when he wanted to. “Sure. I, uh, think I saw him heading to the library. The one with the sofa in front of the hearth.”_ _

__She smiled gratefully at him and let him embrace her once again. “Thanks, Jon.”_ _

__“Of course, little sister,” he whispered, a gentle smile on his face._ _

__From all the things her new title was changing, _this_ was one of her favorites. For the first time in years, she wouldn’t be forced to see Jon once a year. As a matter of fact, Ygritte had told her that Jon and her had been talking about moving closer to the capital, and she wasn’t technically supposed to know that because nothing was definitive yet, but she was positive about some things. For one, even if Jon and Ygritte stayed at The Neck, they would be able to visit for all the time they wanted, whenever they wanted. Just the thought of it made her go all giddy, like a child in Christmas. _ _

__(Jon and Ygritte would move to Riverrun, because of a job offer made to Ygritte, and it would bum them all for a few weeks before realizing that Riverrun was a lot closer to the capital than The Neck ever was, so it was still an upgrade. Not the one they wanted, sure, but hey! Not everything could magically work out. They would figure things out)._ _

__“Hey, dinner tomorrow together?” she asked as they broke their hug._ _

__“Father didn’t told you? Tomorrow's _family_ dinner.” _ _

__“Oh,” she said, pleasantly surprised. “Even better, I guess.”_ _

__“I know,” he said. “But Ygritte was talking about going to the beach before dinner. She said that she is bored of seeing Gendry look like a tickling time-bomb.”_ _

__She let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Responsibilities,” she admitted. “But beach sounds amazing. Maybe it’ll lift the mood.”_ _

__“Whose?”_ _

__“Hopefully everyone’s.”_ _

__Jon promised to find her tomorrow before turning around and entering the room where Ygritte was waiting for him. Then she went to find Gendry._ _

__He was sprawled in the couch, forcing his eyes at the dim light. _Reading_. She scuffed. He was a stubborn, dumbass Bull. He was supposed to be resting. So, she took the book out of his hands, and when he tried to protest, she let herself fall between his legs and pulled his arms around her. _ _

__“Shut up and cuddle me,” she ordered quietly and Gendry let out a little chuckle before compelling._ _

__She talked about her day to fill the silence. Gendry was as shocked as she was when she told him about what her father said. Then he grumbled about hating the beach, but didn’t turn it down. She knew he wouldn’t. Gendry didn’t love the sea, for some inexplicable reason, but at this point he would take any excuse to avoid his classes. Besides, he liked hanging out with Ygritte and Jon. Their sole company would make up for this week of terror they’d had._ _

__“I’m sorry about last night,” Gendry whispered an hour later._ _

__She gave her a little punch on one of his arms. “I already told you to not apologize.”_ _

__He sighed heavily. “Yeah, but still. It was-”_ _

__Someone knocked on the door and before any of them could answer, the door was being pulled open._ _

__“Fuck off,” she yelled, hoping that they could be left alone for a few more hours._ _

__The door didn’t close again. She heard someone taking a step in, timidly. “Arya?”_ _

__“I said-” she managed to get a look at the door from behind the couch and huffed an annoyed sigh. “What do you want, Sansa?”_ _

__Her sister straightened her pose, as it could ever be anything but perfectly straight. “Can we talk?”_ _

__“I-,” she looked at Gendry and then back at Sansa. She could’ve made up a lie, or be brutally honest and say that she would very much prefer to stay in Gendry’s arms, but Sansa was doing something Arya wouldn’t ever do out of pride: offering an olive branch. A white flag. The literal peace sign. If she didn’t took it, this opportunity would be missed. She didn’t like to be on this weird spot with her sister. So, she cursed in her mind and shot an apologetic glance at Gendry. “Yeah. Okay, sure.”_ _

__Sansa widened her eyes when Gendry incorporated from under her. He waved her way. “Hey, Sansa,” he greeted, moody. All she could think of was _same_. _ _

__She dragged her sister to the hall before Sansa could answer._ _

__“I didn’t-”_ _

__“It’s fine,” she cut her with a wave of her hand. “But do talk. I was comfy.”_ _

__Sansa swallowed. “I just,” she said, collecting herself quietly. “I’m sorry about the things I said the other day. I was being insensitive and selfish, and I'm sorry for trying to slut-shame you.”_ _

__She frowned. “When did you try that?”_ _

__Sansa could dramatize just about everything. Maybe she hadn’t been paying that much attention to their conversation or maybe Sansa had been very subtle at her jabs, both options were highly likely with them. She just didn’t know what exactly was _slut-shaming_ for a girl like Sansa, who avoided the color black because it, apparently, is the color of death and _no lady should wear black_. _ _

__(She was sure Sansa had made that up. She remembers seeing her in tabloids of all sorts wearing all black when Joffrey died. Arya had felt pity for her sister, who was mourning someone she hated, and because that meant that she wouldn’t be able to use any of her bright-colored dresses for at least a few months. No wonder she didn’t like wearing black all that much)._ _

__She shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. “When I said that thing about you sleeping with a man out of wedlock?”_ _

__“Oh,” she said. Weird, but okay. “So, you think I'm a slut because of that?”_ _

__Sansa shook her head. “No, of course not. Some people do it, I guess it isn’t really a big deal.”_ _

__And just because she wanted to screw with her, she said “Well, good because I did it. Fuck before marriage, I mean. Does that make me a slut?”_ _

__Jon would’ve screamed if he had heard her. Sansa just gaped at her, like she expected. “I- no, it’s, uh, okay. I mean, you were right. It isn’t a, uh, _big deal_.” _ _

__Arya could see she didn’t fully believe in her words, but she was trying, and she appreciated the thought. If they were younger, Sansa would’ve chastised her and run to tell on their mother. Just because of that, she decided to go easy on her._ _

__“I’m just fucking with you, Sansa,” she said, trying to alleviate the tension, but Sansa looked like her mother when she was about to scold her. “I can forgive you, you know? If that’s what you’re looking for.”_ _

__Sansa shook her head and pressed her lips together. “I don’t want your forgiveness if I don’t deserve it. And I don’t know if I do. I was an awful sister to you, Arya.”_ _

__She was taken aback. In her entire life she ever thought she would hear Sansa Stark saying those words._ _

__“I-” she said, but for once in her life, she was completely speechless. Was she really talking to her sister? “You were.”_ _

__What else was she supposed to answer in return? They both knew it was the truth. Arya had been a walking nightmare, throwing her food at dinners and cutting Sansa’s hair once when she was nine. But it was child’s play at the end of the day. Sansa had fucked with her head, her self-image, her entire being. They were mature enough to admit that the damage had been worse on her part._ _

__(The child in her head was desperate to back-track, to say that it was her fault, all her fault that Sansa had to bully her to the ashes, but she couldn’t let herself down again, not after all the internal growing she had to do to get over those stupid thoughts. She figured that, even after all these years, she still craved Sansa’s general approval and happiness)._ _

__“But you aren’t _that_ bad now,” she finally settled on. Sansa’s head snapped up, and in her eyes a glimmer of hope started to form. “You’re stuck up and old-fashioned and act a little too much like mother for my liking,” she pointed out, and Sansa deflated slightly. Arya, hesitantly, reached slowly for her hand. It was as cold as hers, and for some reason she decided that they weren’t all that different after all. “But fourteen years old Sansa would’ve never come to me to apologize.” _ _

__Sansa inhaled under her breath, like she couldn’t believe Arya had just said that._ _

__“I’ll be a better sister. I swear,” she promised, her voice sounding so very different from anything Arya had ever heard from her in her life._ _

__Honesty, she realized. Sansa was being honest with her, probably for the first time in their relationship, and it couldn’t have made her happier. Things were finally working out._ _

__(They would never be perfect sisters. Time would prove that they wouldn’t even be very close, but they tried their hardest to be on good terms, to show their love somehow. They would form a better bond when their daughters decided that they would be best friends' forever. They would be, as a matter of fact, best friends’ and that meant that Arya and Sansa were often forced to spend time together. It wasn’t as bad as one would’ve expected)._ _

__“Yeah, me too,” she answered, because she wasn’t dumb. Relationships' were a two-way street, and she was aware that sometimes she could be a difficult person to deal with. “Now, go gossip with Jeyne Poole or something.”_ _

__Sansa smirked. “What, Gendry can’t be left alone for a few minutes?”_ _

__Arya rolled her eyes, grateful that the seriousness of the conversation could be brushed away so easily. “We’re not on that stage of familiarity yet, sister.”_ _

__“Oh,” Sansa’s smirk fell. “You’re right. Sorry.”_ _

__Arya let herself grin mischievously. “I’m joking. I just like to spend time with that dumbass.”_ _

__Sansa let out a relieved sigh that turned quickly into a giggle. “I keep forgetting that you’re in love with that Baratheon boy. Sometimes you two can be so subtle, one would think you’re just friends.”_ _

__She felt herself blush. She wasn’t used to people pointing out that she was whipped, mostly because her relationship with Gendry was as casual as day and night. Sometimes it was messy, other times passionate, and other times, subtle. She loved it._ _

__“Well, we are best friends,” she shrugged. “Friends that fuck and that, at some point, got married, but best friends first and foremost, you know?”_ _

__Sansa swallowed, uncomfortable. Arya could’ve teased her mercilessly (and probably would in the future) by just stating that she was comfortable with her sex life enough to talk freely about it, but right now, she wanted to go back to Gendry and take her time to digest the conversation with her sister._ _

__“I’m happy for you. I guess,” Sansa said politely, scrunching her nose._ _

__She forced back a chuckle. “Thanks. Now, run along. I'm gonna go back to my stupid husband,” she said, trying to sound annoyed, but she didn’t think she succeeded with how fond she felt. It was her own fault. She had called Gendry stupid so many times and for so long that, by now, it felt more like and endearment than a jab._ _

__Damn him._ _

__(Not really. It wasn’t his fault that he was the greatest person she had ever met, after all)._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant it when i said i don't know how to math. i didn't wrote it wrong on purpose. 
> 
> So, i know this is a little all over the place, but the thing is, i had finished the fic when i realized i wanted at least one conversation between Arya and Ned to kinda clear things up, and then i wanted to write Jon and Arya talking like good siblings, without drama or stress, and finally i thought that Sansa deserved some kind of redemption just because, as annoying as i find her, i do believe she is able to see some of her mistakes and regret them, hence to her very needed apologies. My n°1 fantasy in ASOIAF is to have Sansa ask for Arya's forgiveness just because i know my girl has been feeling guilty for a long time, and she will apologize for things that she regrets saying to Sansa. The least her sister can do is realize her own mistakes. 
> 
> I know i paired Sansa with Harold at first, but lemme tell you i completly forgot about the very obvious pining of Sansa/Maergery, so i added it last second bc i enjoyed Maergery and Sansa was a lot nicer when they were "friends".
> 
> I'll say that i didn't really read this over with much attention, so you might have found some mistakes. If so, i'm sorry, but you'll be glad to know that i'm finishing my semester this friday and then i'll have time to revise the last few chapters we have. Hopefully i can deliver a good work, because that's always been a concern of mine. 
> 
> Also, freak fact! I was talking to my best friend the other day, and we were casually talking about our parents and stuff. Hers aren't married (and neither are mine now, arriba the divorce bc it fucked me up, but whatevah), and she was telling me about this one time a priest asked her father why wouldn't he marry her mamma since they've been together for over twenty years and shit. Long story short, her father looked at the priest dead in the eye and said "Yeah, no. I don't like married women," and i almost pissed myself for some reason. I needed to include it here, i'm not even sorry.
> 
> Finally, i really like the comments' i've found of you guys analyzing either the characters or the story. i really enjoy reading them. i'm sorry if i haven't responded to every single one of them.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed! <3


	10. Chapter IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost had a breakdown because i thought i skipped through an entire chapter but it's okay, i was just being dumb:)
> 
> Heads up, the insta accounts are no longer private, just to put context here i guess.

[twentieth post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187490092384)  
[twenty first post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187490102389)

Funny enough, Arya had an amazing time at the ball. Now, it wasn’t because she, suddenly, felt like the crown was her destiny, and that highborns’ were actually her kin or whatever bullshit the newspapers and gossip magazines would write in the future. As a matter of fact, she despised her new title a tiny bit more through the entirety of the damned ball. The company, however, made it all bearable. 

Highborns', to no one’s surprise, were insufferable, bowing like their life depended on it and asking time and time again about her dress and jewelry and shoes, or her career if they were nosier. She would’ve thought they were interviewers that had crashed into the party, and she would’ve been glad to throw them out, but for her eternal suffering, they were allies and she had to be on good terms with the bastards. Not even the few interviewers that they allowed in were being quite as annoying. 

That night she realized just how different she was from her family. They were incredibly collected in front of strangers and cameras (especially the curious assholes that kept trying to stick their noses up in their bussiness), whilst she could barely remember to take a deep breath before she lost her cool and punched someone. 

Sansa was looking as perfect as ever, with her green, long cocktail dress and wavy, red hair. She looked like a model waiting for her signal to walk down the runway, but in reality she was just a girl from a wealthy family trying her hardest to live up to the family name. From Catelyn’s smile, she could tell Sansa was succeeding greatly. She felt like a child again, desperate to be _just_ like her big sister and get praised, while also being desperate to stand by her side looking like she had just rolled in mud. She wished she could feel as comfortable as Sansa seemed in this situation. 

(For her surprise and utter annoyance, Rickon seemed to be just as comfortable. He was making small-talk with Lord Umber, a northern ally, and while she knew northerners were usually a lot more laid-back than southerners, she also knew that Rickon was supposed to be her equal. Up until then, she had comforted her mind by reminding herself that even if she managed to fuck everything up tonight, Rickon wouldn’t be far away from that mess. Looking at him, politely nodding and smiling with patience, she knew that even if Rickon was a little wildling, he knew how to act proper). 

But who she actually envied were Ygritte and Jeyne Westerling, that were free to gossip at the bar and not get attention for it. 

(Unlike her name-sake, Jeyne Poole was attached to Sansa’s hip trying to catch anyone’s attention. If she were a little smarter, she would’ve gotten the hell away from Sansa, who was without a doubt the eye-candy of every men in the room.) 

She wanted to be in their place, able to drink quietly and not worry about ruining their attires, unlike her. After the first dance with her husband (that allowed her to breathe properly for the first time in days), she had managed to drop a little bit of salmon on her corset, much to her mother and sister’s dismay. It caused an actual ruckus as they escorted her to a close chamber with half a dozen of maids surrounding her, trying to cover up the tiny stain in her red dress. She couldn’t wait to see what the press would write about it tomorrow morning. 

It was a good thing that she had another dress ready, knowing very well that she got a little clumsy when she found herself in front of tons of food. The Septa Mordane had initially disqualified the garment because _it showed too much_. Arya translated that as _slutty_ , in the Septa’s language, but she could not, for the life of her, see how or why. 

Okay, it maybe had a very low V-neck, and maybe it had a side opening. Maybe it wasn’t as big and fluffy as a princess dress, and maybe it was a little too simple, but to her, it was perfect. It was light, and elegant and comfortable. 

(And it was blue, the exact same color as Gendry´s eyes. She couldn’t _not_ love it). 

So, she ignored her mother’s protests and Sansa’s disapproval sigh and pretended that nothing was bothering her. Not the nosy, snobby lords and ladies, or the constant flashes of unwanted pictures and definitely not the fact that her husband had been whipped away from her for just over an hour ago.

(She was trying not to worry. She really was, but this was uncharted territory for the both of them. She would’ve been a lot more at ease if they were together, but they were their own people. They could make stupid decisions and not have the other to back them up if it were to happen, but it would be difficult to get in actual trouble in a fucking _ball_. Gendry _should_ be fine). 

“Having fun?” asked Ygritte when she could, finally, make her way towards her sisters-in-law. They had shit-eating grins that managed to put her on a worse mood. 

She glared at her. “I would rather stab myself in both eyes.” 

Jeyne snickered as Ygritte raised her champagne glass at her. “Same, little Oedipus.” 

Arya rolled her eyes and took the glass from her hand before downing it in a sole gulp. She wished she could get drunk on that glass alone. 

Jeyne suddenly gasped, as if being struck by an amazing idea. “We should have a girls’ night tomorrow,” she whispered, awed at herself. 

Ygritte scrunched her nose sympathetically. “Pass.” 

Arya bit her lip apologetically. “Me too. I'm not really into chick-flicks and braid-trains.” 

Jeyne deflated for a second before resolution set on her face. “Oh, well. That’s a shame,” she sighed. “I had this little bag of edibles that ended up in my bag. Guess I'll have to throw ‘em out.” 

Arya snorted out a laugh as she exchanged a glance with Ygritte, both completely shook at the bribe. 

(Usually, it was them who bribed people. Jon, to drink with them, or Gendry to lend them his car. She knew for a fact that Ygritte had punched people that tried to bribe her, mostly because she had been right by her side. It was a good turn of events to have found another person that could get along with them, since not a lot of people did). 

“I like the way you think, Jeyne,” Ygritte finally stated with a big, proud smile on her face. 

Jeyne shrugged, playing it cool since she knew she had already won the argument. “It’s the only way I can think to forget this night forever.” 

That's exactly when Arya knew the three of them would be inseparable. 

“I’m in as long as we watch something with a strong-female lead,” she finally gave in. 

“Kill Bill is my go-to, but Arya and I had watched it a billion times and we saw it just a week ago again,” Ygritte pointed out before Jeyne could suggest anything. 

(Did she mentioned that Jon was dating the coolest girl ever? When they first met, she thought Ygritte was the hippie version of Sansa. Tall, slim, red hair and beautiful. The comparison stopped not even half an hour after, when Ygritte had downed almost an entire bottle of vodka by herself and proceeded to talk about the king and what an asshole he was. Now, she didn’t said asshole. She cursed like a sailor and worse, and Arya had been a little drunk, so she didn’t remember all the name-calling, but ever since then, Ygritte had found a nice, stable place in her heart. She had a feeling Jeyne would be getting one too, someday). 

“Okay, but have you ever watched Star Wars while high?” Jeyne frowned at them. 

She thought for a second before widening her eyes. “Oh, Gods, you’re a genius,” she whispered, amazed out of her mind. 

Jeyne beamed at her. 

“I’d say that’s a date, ladies,” Ygritte said then, stopping a boy with a tray full with glasses of white wine. 

They reached for a glass each and clinked them before taking a sip. 

She sighed. “I would give my left arm for my flask. I had it filled with white rum earlier, but this dress can’t hide shit.” 

Ygritte hummed with a mouthful of wine before producing a tiny flask from her purse. 

“Next time, you’re in charge of the buzz,” she warned Arya before slipping some white tequila in their glasses. 

“Can you stay with Jon forever?” she just whispered, adoration lighting her eyes unbidden. 

She didn’t even care. Ygritte was the sister she wished she grew with. 

“I’m with Arya,” Jeyne nodded at her side, beaming. 

Ygritte let out a long, appreciative laugh. 

Before she could say anything in return, a pair of strong hands found their way to her shoulders. Big, strong and so very warm. She didn’t have to look to know whom hands were. 

“Would m’ladies let me steal my wife for a second?” Gendry asked, teasingly. 

“It would be our honor, your grace,” Ygritte bowed mockingly and Gendry, ever the mature one, flipped the bird at her. Jeyne gasped, but Ygritte just laughed harder. 

As Gendry guided her through the crow, she could still hear Ygritte. Gendry took the glass from her hand and took a little sip before looking at her with surprise in his face. “They’re serving tequila?” 

He sounded so excited she almost lied to him, but instead she just chuckled and shook her head. “You have to thank Ygritte for that.” 

Gendry huffed. “Damn it, she is smart. I would pay good money to be drunk right now,” he admitted. 

“Same,” she answered with a little grin. 

At least she wasn’t the only miserable one. 

A few people stopped them to ask invasive questions (what’s new?), but it was a lot more bearable with Gendry by her side (again, what’s new?). Just as she noticed the way Gendry was leading them, she heard a change in the music and how people started to clear away from the center of the room. 

She frowned at him, confused. “Is that tango?” 

Gendry regaled her with a smug smile on his face. “Turns out the orchestra knows a song or two,” he said, as if he hadn’t made her night a whole lot better. 

(This dork would eventually admit that he had asked for the director to rehearse some of Arya’s favorite songs, since he was aware that dancing always made her feel centered and happy. He would never be as good at it as Arya was, but making her happy was his life goal and he didn’t mind embarrassing himself a little if it made her smile). 

Arya gave him a big, surprised smile. “And it just happens that they are the ones that you know how to dance to?” 

He shook his head, feigning oblivion. “Destiny,” he just said, positioning them. 

“Not to be sappy, but fuck Gendry. You were made for me,” she whispered. She hoped no one knew how to read lips, because no one but Gendry was allowed to know just how whipped she was. 

“Ditto,” was his only response, and she let out a loud laugh. 

As Gendry dipped her down, she realized how careless she felt in his arms. 

So what if her family was a lot better accustomed to this kind of events? So what if she was being observed and interviewed and expected to be perfect? So what if she couldn’t spend her night with her sisters-in-law, drinking and hoping for the hours to go by quickly? 

She couldn’t care. She had an amazing man, supportive sisters-in-law, a bunch of brothers that she loved and a father that she adored. She had a stern mother that showed her affection in the strangest of ways and even a sister that was trying to understand her life and decisions. 

Fuck the press and the pictures that would appear the next morning. Fuck Robert that had come into Gendry’s life only to ruin it, and fuck the lords and ladies that had their head so full of air that they wouldn’t be able to drown. Right now, she was dancing with her imperfect husband in a _slutty_ dress to a song that was a lot more lustful than what royals should be dancing to, and she didn’t give a fuck. It was a nice change. 

(The next morning they would talk to Robert well into the afternoon. They would announce that, until they were officially King and Queen, they wouldn’t be doing his job. Then, they would start a few programs to help the most needed and travel to a few war-ridden countries to save children and innocent families. Robert could do whatever he pleased, but they had other plans before their imminent raise to the crown. At least, they would be doing what they always dreamed about before they ever anticipated, and it was as perfect as it could get).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the finish line! I know that there were better chapters than others, but i just want to say that this is the first time i write something that i actually finish! I'm proud, okay? I think i could've done better, but whatever. I can always improve and right now, i really like what i did. 
> 
> so, I'll tell you this; i'm the kinda gal who actually enjoys girlz nights'. Me and my cousin, my honest to god soulsister, do them all the time, mostly with a bottle of rosé by our side, and most of the time we end up talking about incredibly mature shit that i cannot, for the life of me, remember because we burn a lot of subjects rather fast. This is just my way of saying that i wish happiness on everyone, and for me happiness is a quiet night with people you appreciate, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. My girl, Arya, deserves to have that, so i'm sorry if you feel like i'm projecting my shit, but that's kinda how writing works for me, you know? 
> 
> Well, that's all the insight i can think of right now. Hope you enjoyed and i'll see you next wednesday for the epilogue! <3


	11. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I be posting in september 11th? probably not. I'm sorry.

[Final post](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187647101234)   
[Final post pt.2](https://arya-stan.tumblr.com/post/187647113484)

Arya found out a way to make her life bearable. 

It was easy, really. A nice combination of flipping the bird to dumbass lords, dancing, visiting the smallfolk to make sure they didn’t need anything, and demanding to be left alone from friday to sunday. It worked like a charm, especially with the lords and ladies, who, by now, knew that if Arya was irritated, she would act on her impulses. She had threatened a few allies, after all, and it wasn’t a big deal as long as she didn’t actually harm them or something serious. 

In her first year as a queen, things had never been easier. Gendry and herself had a lot more of room to do whatever the fuck they wanted, mostly because they had the power and the will to do it. She didn’t love to speak ill of the dead, but thank the Gods’ Robert had died –kinda– young. 

Maybe it was because they had already been living at the palace for three years prior, learning and planning, but they flipped the country rather fast. They weren’t big diplomats, but they were scary. They had proposed a bunch of new laws and ideas to the parliment, and it would be a long while before any of them started working or were even accepted, but they had faith. That, and the knowledge that most of the politicians at the parliament were scared shitless of them. Everyone in Westeros had heard about the Royal couple, who were street smart and reckless, at least enough to break some fingers and start a fight or two. 

They weren’t amazing at being _Royal_. Gods’ know that they weren’t conventional, but their people loved them. They were real, unafraid of acting. Eager to help. Even if there were some powerful people that had been scheming to take them out of the throne the moment they were crowned, they would have to face the people who supported them, who happened to be a lot. 

In the end, it was for the better to leave them be. It wasn’t like they were bad at their job; in fact, they were good enough to fix part of the loan problem the former Queen had left prior to her dead faster than Robert ever did. They could make dumb decisions (and hold hands in public, and curse at press conferences, and kiss at every event they were invited), but they were good royals. The best the kingdom had got in the last hundred years or so, all of that in their first year in the throne. 

She couldn’t wait for their first child to be born and learn about their legacy. 

Maybe she was just giddy with child-like excitement, but she had never felt happier. She wished she could keep it that way, with their pup growing steadily inside her, where it was easier to protect, and with just Gendry knowing about the existence of this little miracle. 

Of course, things had never worked out like she wanted to. Look at her, for once. The little girl who despised highborns’ was the reigning Queen. Fate just loved fucking with her life decisions. 

They tried, that much is obvious, to keep it a secret. When they found out that she was pregnant, they started hiding in their chambers a lot more than what they used to. Now, at almost four months old, she knew they wouldn’t be able to keep their secret for very long. It was just perfect timing that her family decided to travel for her 24th birthday. 

(Perfect as in completely disastrous. She couldn’t hide shit from them when they were face-to-face. Then again, it would be for the best that she told them for once and for all. Nobody but Gendry and Ygritte knew about her pregnancy, and she didn’t want to admit it, but she was a little desperate to talk about her baby with the entire world and not _just_ Ygritte). 

Gendry had planned on going to a nice little park close to the palace for her birthday, because she wasn’t big on parties and lately she got tired rather easily, so her husband had figured she would like to chill somewhere quiet and full of life, maybe even swim in the lake for a while. It sounded like a dream; the two of them and their growing little girl alone. Maybe they would start picking names out. Gendry was stupidly excited to pick a name for their first-born. 

Unfortunately, the Stark clan had a knack for interrupting their plans. For example, there was their first gate-away as king and queen that they invited themselves over. Then, there was that incident with Gendry’s birthday, when they decided to show out of the blue and throw a massive party on his name. It was a disaster, since nobody but Arya knew that Gendry despised celebrating his birthdays’ ever since he turned 21, and because her family came up with the plan an entire month after he turned 25. Arya laughed until she cried, but her family had never felt as embarrassed and Gendry had been too desperate to placate the awkwardness to laugh at the situation the way Arya did. 

One would think that, after two failed surprise plans, they would stop. Well, you’re wrong. 

The morning of her 24th birthday, she woke up to a room full of her family members and a dead wish. She was just glad that both her and her husband were properly dressed, otherwise it would’ve made up for another embarrassing story to remember. 

What was better; she had been wearing one of Gendry’s hoodies that covered her growing tummy, and besides feeling like all her being was sore, she wasn’t feeling nauseous, which she counted as a win. 

One thing led to another, and somehow their little park date turned into a big family reunion. Under different circumstances, she would’ve been overjoyed with happiness. She hadn’t seen Bran in a little over a year, and her parents in at least six months. Jon and Ygritte had visited two months ago, and Rickon, who had been living at the palace with them for over three years, had decided to go back to the family nest for a few weeks. All in all, she hadn’t been with her entire family in at least a year and a half, since Bran’s wedding to Meera Reed and she missed them dearly, but as of that day, she would’ve liked a silent day much better. 

She had learned quickly that pregnancy was _hard_. There were days where she woke up feeling like an actual sunshine, grateful for life and, more specifically, tomatoes for some reason. Other days, like that one, she woke up thinking that her body, her _child_ , hated her. She didn’t want to call her daughter a brat, but somedays, she was. 

So, to everyone’s confusion, she limited herself at eating and doze off during chit-chats. Ygritte would poke her arm every ten minutes to make sure she was awake, and fondly roll her eyes at her. Ygritte and Jon had a child themselves, her first nephew, Benjen in honor of their deceased uncle. He was four, but Arya guessed Ygritte was one of the few people who could vividly remember what was like to be pregnant. Otherwise, Arya would’ve been _pissed_ at Ygritte’s knowing little smiles. 

“Is everything alright, child?” Catelyn asked when she gave up on trying to keep her eyes open. She was leaning into Ygritte’s shoulder, ready to take a nice quick nap, but her mother, Sansa and Meera were looking at her weirdly, like she had grown a third eye or something. 

She nodded. “Just tired.” 

Sansa squinted at her. Alys, Robb and Jeyne’s first born, was braiding her hair. Well, more like trying. She was almost four, the best thing she could do at her age was tangle it. Arya was grateful the little girl had gravitated towards Sansa instead of herself. 

“I don’t think I've ever heard those words leave your mouth,” her sister pointed out. 

Meera nodded at her side. “You’re the most energic person I know. You're like that bunny from the duracell commercials.” 

She let out a laugh. “Maybe I just ate too much. Don't worry about it,” she said in dismissal. 

Gendry, who had been cooking some meat with her father and brothers, approached to the little picnic table where they were sat. Benjen was running behind him, and when he noticed the little boy trailing at his back, he took him in his arms and tickled him. 

Arya was positively melting at the sight. She was sleepy, but seeing her husband with children make her feel giddy with excitement. 

(And a little horny, but who could blame her with all the hormones that were running through her system.) 

Benjen extended his little arms towards Ygritte the moment he saw her mom. Arya lifted her head and Ygritte took her son in her arms with the most adoring smile she had ever seen. 

(Ever since Benjen was born, Ygritte had a different way to smile. She was as happy as ever, but when she set eyes on her son, it was like the world stopped only for him. Jon, on the other hand, had to pause to take deep breaths when he looked at Benjen. He had started carrying a little camera everywhere to capture every moment with his son, and while it was impossibly endearing for both Ygritte and Arya, it was incredibly annoying at the same time.) 

“Wanna go rowing for a while?” her husband asked. She snorted. 

Gendry hated rowing. She wasn’t quite sure why, but everything that had to do with either boats or water was a no-no to him. If anything, it was a gesture for her, since she loved the calmness that water could bring. It was light but deathly. She loved it. 

So she nodded and Gendry restrained himself from helping her to stand up. It would’ve been too obvious, especially since Arya never accepted help from anyone. She was just starting to realize that, somewhere in the close future, she would be forced to ask for help, and that thought was irking her already. 

“What do you think of Cassandra?” he asked deep into the lake. 

He looked like a God. All strong arms and handsome face with an easy smile reserved just for her. He looked peaceful under the bright blue sky that wasn’t nearly as beautiful as his eyes. She hoped their child had his eyes. She almost wanted to jump on him. 

She scrunched her nose. “There already was a Cassandra Baratheon,” she said, and Gendry hummed. 

“What about Walda?” he asked with a straight face. 

She grimaced and he let out a long, loud laugh. “That’s the worse joke you’ve ever made.” 

“Maybe,” he shrugged. He stopped rowing and stretched his arms as he raised a brow her way. “What were you thinking, then? You’re the one doing the heavy part of the job, you should decide what to name her, right?” 

She smiled fondly at him. “Yes, but I want a name that we both like. You can help me boot my options, yeah?” 

He grinned dumbly at her and nodded. Not for the first time in her life, she wondered how she got so lucky to find Gendry. 

“Shoot,” he said. 

She bit her lip. “Well, I wanted to name her after a great warrior, someone like Nymeria Targaryen,” she started. Gendry scrunched his eyebrows together, and she knew what he was thinking. “I know, I had a dog named Nymeria, which is why I forced myself to think of something else. And that brought me to Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen. Visenya used to carry a great sword called Dark Sister. I thought it would be funny to print Dark Sister in her toys and shit,” she said with a giggle, absently touching her stomach. Her daughter, for the first time in the day, stood still. Maybe it wasn’t as funny as she thought, the Dark Sister thing. 

Gendry huffed a little laugh, and then pressed his lips together. “And what about Rhaenys?” 

She scrunched her eyebrows together, confused about her husband’s interest. He didn’t really like history, not like she did, at least. “Well, she wasn’t much of a warrior. She was gentle and playful, instead of rough and cruel like Aegon or even Visenya. She used to care about the smallfolk, and tried her best to keep the kingdom united.” 

Gendry nodded silently. “What happened to her?” 

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Her dragon, Meraxes, was killed while she was riding it.” 

He looked at her, confused. “You said she wasn’t much of a warrior.” 

“She wasn’t. Unlike her siblings, she didn’t carry a great-sword. She didn’t go around starting war after war. She was more peaceful, but at the end of the day, she was still brave, which is why she died in battle. Visenya was a lot more cooler, but I guess Rhaenys was a better queen for the realm.” 

Gendry smiled softly at her, his eyes traveling from her tummy to her face. Her daughter kicked gently within her, and she just knew what she would be called. 

“Well, that’s what we’re hoping for, right? An heir that cares about her people and isn’t interested in wars,” he said. Her daughter gave her a stronger kick. 

It was annoyingly sweet to know that, even now, father and daughter were ganging up on her. She was barely four months along, but she already knew that this child would be a daddy’s girl. She almost wished she could be mad about it. 

So, she rolled her eyes fondly and nodded, pretending to be annoyed. “Okay, then. Rhaenys it is. Happy?” 

Gendry grinned at her and reached to kiss her. “Very.” 

At nightfall, she called her family for a bonfire, the kind of things they used to do when she was little. 

Sansa was leaning her head against Harrold, her husband. Bran and Meera were laughing at something Rickon was saying. Robb and Jon were watching over their kids, who were playing far from the bonfire, knowing full well that those two were too clumsy to play closer to the pit. Ygritte, Jeyne and her parents watched the kids fondly. Gendry, at her side, popped a bag of marshmallows out of the blue and she fell a little more in love with him. 

She announced her pregnancy in the most beautiful way she could think of: in the middle of a mindless joke. Something intelligent and classy, like, “That’s fucking _dumb_ , Rickon, and I would know since pregnancy brain is really fucking me up right now.” 

Her mother didn’t scold her up until after she hugged her so hard she thought her eyes were gonna pop out of her skull. Jon and her father started making calls to make sure everything was running smoothly at work while they were gone, since they decided that they would be staying with them for another month or so. Sansa’s eyes fired with something close to envy, but then she took a deep breath and hugged her sister, whispering about how happy she was for her. 

Rickon quietly asked if he would have to go back to live at Winterfell, and she assured him that there was no need. Rickon was taking classes to be in the king’s guard, or if he decided to do something else, she had promised he would get the help he needed. 

Jeyne blurted all the baby information she had under her belt, and Bran offered to bring her a northerner midwife, since he assured those were better than any midwife the capital had to offer. She accepted the offer, because Bran just _knew_ things and because she was a northerner through and through. She would always trust those who carried ice in their veins. 

(She didn’t tell them that she was expecting a girl, and they didn’t ask. They had learned not to pressure Arya into saying anything she didn’t want to, because that would only anger her. Her mother would confide in her that she hoped the Gods’ were merciful and blessed them with a boy. She would clench her jaw and answer with a forced nod, and then invest all her time into changing the law that would dismiss her daughters’ claim to the crown. If she didn’t want it, great, but Arya wouldn’t let her child be underappreciated because she was being born a girl.) 

When Rhaenys came into the world, everything seemed brighter somehow. She understood Ygritte, who looked at her son like he was the actual sun, and Jon who was desperate to commemorate every single breath the boy took. It was a relief that Gendry felt the same way. 

(Wrong. He was a tad bit overbearing than her, but it wasn’t a bad trait. Her husband ended up being an amazing father, just like Ned Stark was. She couldn’t be more grateful). 

Rhaenys carried their legacy like they knew she would. Just like her name-sake, she made sure to keep a peaceful realm, focused on the good for the people. 

Fate really loved fucking with her, but she guessed that, in a very strange way, she got more than she could ever hope for, and left a mark with her and her husband’s name in history. Things could’ve been worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a wrap! Honestly i'm not quite sure if i love the way i ended this. Anyways, i just wanted to get the story out of my system after that aweful finale and sharing it was just a "fuck it" kinda thing. I hope you enjoyed it, though. 
> 
> Thanks for reading my ramblings and thanks for showing any kind of support <3 it was amazing.
> 
> PD: Have any of you ever read or seen any videos about the rules royals are supposed to follow? they're stupid as fuck. Like, they can't hold hands in public or cross them legs? dumb shit. Arya had never been great at following rules, i could never expect her to follow dumbass rules at that.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all. I have five chapters almost completly edited and a little side oneshot that I have to revise at some point. I don't know if you'll stick with me, but if you do, here goes a list of things i want to assure.
> 
> 1.-This won't be a long fic. I haven't decided how many chapters it'll have, but i can say that this is a short little story, althought it doesn't seems like it since i get carried away from time to time.
> 
> 2.- I've been pondering if this is the right time to post this or not for weeks because i don't want to start a chaptered fic and have it unfinished, which is why i already have a few chapters ready by now AND why i'm posting it anyways. If i know one thing is that i don't want to leave this unfinished. I hope i can live up to it, though.
> 
> 3.- i will be updating once a week so i can still have time to finish my first draft and to edit. 
> 
> And considering that my career decided to go on an independent strike just today (little fuckers) i am possitive that i'll have more than enough time to write. i just hope Stranger Things doesn't take over my life tomorrow. In any case, i hope you enjoyed the prologue and, hopefully, enjoy the rest of the fic! <3


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